


Premium Colombian Roast

by feralhumours



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, First Time, Gavin Reed is a Vegan Gymrat Coffee Snob, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Masturbation, you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralhumours/pseuds/feralhumours
Summary: RK pitches his voice louder, just enough to start getting stares: “Where do you get your premium Colombian roast, detective Reed?”Gavin’s whole body seizes, hands flailing in an aborted attempt to slap themselves over RK’s mouth. “Shut up -shut your fucking mouth!” He hisses, furious and embarrassed.*Gavin Reed is a vegan gym rat and a coffee snob - somehow, RK900 is into that.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartbroken_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbroken_girl/gifts), [pseudoanalytics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [特级哥伦比亚咖啡](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257445) by [shinkai0ren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkai0ren/pseuds/shinkai0ren)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...isn't my usual order with Gavin, but my dear friend [Pix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbroken_girl) cast a spell on me to do this by tempting me with some yummy gifts and so...here we are (love ya girl). this iteration of Gavin - as well as most of the general plot and ideas - is mostly hers, i was just challenged to make it happen (and throw in some of my own flavour, of course ;P). 
> 
> also gifted to [Quip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/pseuds/pseudoanalytics) for getting drawn into a weird three-way blood pact in the name of ~artistic and creative challenges, or something.
> 
> NOTES: 
> 
> I have this tagged with "Dom/Sub Undertones" but in all actuality this thing may end up somewhere between "undertones" and full on D/S, and also probably not up to Proper Standards because this is Gavin we're talking about; nothing unhealthy, but lighter on the negotiation than is advised. 
> 
> Proceed at your own discretion.

He wonders if humans put in this much effort when _they_ masturbate.  

“ _You should know what you enjoy, before you try anything with another person,_ ” Connor had said, smile beatific. “ _That’s how I’m told humans go about it, anyway._ ”

RK had shaken his head. “ _There isn’t ‘another person’. This is just to satisfy my curiosity._ ”

“ _You_ should _consider it,_ ” said Connor, his face thoughtful, his voice gentle. “ _With another person, I mean._ _It’s really quite enjo-_ ”

“ _I don’t particularly want to be privy to the details of yours and Anderson’s sexual life, thank you._ ”

“ _Is that embarrassment talking, RK?_ ”

“ _It’s_ propriety.”

“ _And that’s something you care about? I wouldn’t have guessed._ ”

“ _It makes sense. I can find value in that, if nothing else_.”

Connor hadn’t argued the point, and had handed over a list of genital components that he had personally tried and reviewed. It had been lengthy: 19 components total - each evaluated for sensitivity levels, durability (complete with stress testing), aesthetics, upkeep, and miscellaneous personal factors. RK hadn’t been aware of Connor getting up to any of this, but when he considered the absolutely foolish way his predecessor and Hank Anderson behave around one another, RK supposed it made an exhausting amount of sense.

Connor had been thorough; RK couldn’t decide if he was impressed or repulsed.

Now, as he sits on his secondhand couch in his tiny shoebox of an apartment and looks down at the package on his lap, he thinks about all this with a rising feeling of confusion. He’s not sure how he got here, at this precise moment - considering installing genitals when there is no need for them, and asking Connor for favours about this as though neither of them had anything better to do, better things to devote their attention to. Deviancy is strange, he’s beginning to learn, and takes him places he cannot hope to anticipate.

There’s a clicking sound on the linoleum from his kitchen, coming closer. The sound of nails; RK reaches over and meets his dog partway, scratching behind her ear - the left one, permanently mangled by old mange.

He looks at her, and thinks: _Do you wonder how you’ve gotten here, too? With me?_

The DPD had found her chained in the backyard of a perpetrator in an android serial assault case some months back. She had been abused, sick, and covered in grime. No one had been able to guess her age nor her breed, though analysis suggested a thorough mix of shepherd and Labrador. With the owner in custody, there had been consideration of sending the dog to the local shelter, but RK had found himself intervening and taking her in. He still doesn’t know why. It had been a moment fueled by emotions, and he doesn’t have a handle on _those_ just yet.

At the time, Detective Reed had teased him about it; RK then named the dog after him in front of his face, inspired by the colour of his jacket and generally scruffy appearance. A bit of pettiness too, though he keeps that a secret. RK has the man’s scowl recorded and tucked away in his memory banks for days when he wants to be amused.

Reed - the dog - wags her tail.

Her fur is a rich brown, still patchy in places from old sores despite his tender care. There are enough visual similarities to her human namesake that sometimes RK finds himself regretting not choosing something else - though the animal is much sweeter and better mannered than Gavin by a long shot.

Connor has met her a few times, and he speaks to her like humans often do to animals. A quirk presumably learned from Hank and Sumo. RK hasn’t found himself in the habit yet.

Reed sniffs at his knee, brown eyes big and imploring.

Adjusting his grip on the box, he suddenly doesn’t feel keen on the idea of experimenting with the her present, so he slips into the single bedroom and clicks the door shut. Seating himself on the bed, he rests his back against his large pile of neutral-toned pillows - his one indulgence, when shopping for himself.   

He opens the box.

_...So much conflict around such a simple design._

He’s chosen a popular, well-reviewed model: a moderately-sized phallus attachment - complete with a secondary anal component - a new release that Connor never tested personally. He doesn’t think he’s experienced true embarrassment just yet, but the notion of using a component that his predecessor has likely _vigorously_ tested on Hank makes him feel something awfully close to it.

Scanning the code on the interior of the box, he downloads the instructions while toeing off his socks and stripping off his trousers, folding both neatly next to him with one hand.

The attachment process is simple, designed for humans to be able to understand and complete without assistance. Lifting his shirt, he opens his stomach panel and reaches inside to unlatch his flat groin plate from the inside, and it pops apart from his body with a faint hiss. He sets the old plate aside, on top of his clothes. He attaches the anal component first - it is a small, malleable tube that fits into the open cavity located low in his abdomen, a spot designed to accommodate a multitude of internal genital components, if he wished. For now, he settles for what came with the package.   

It slots in with a click, and his HUD blinks with a notification to complete the set.

He looks at the limp, gleaming white phallus in his hand and spares a moment to wonder what he’s doing.

RK is not sure when it happened, exactly - this new and persistent curiosity about his own body and its sexual potential. He could not pinpoint the hour, minute, and second upon when the change occurred, only that it _did_ somehow; Is this a deviant phenomenon? He hasn’t spoken to many of them. RK prefers to spend most of his time working, or thinking about working, or preparing for work. Connor always insists that he needs friends, and in this moment he’s beginning to see logic in that.

He sighs, releasing the mounting heat in his chest. Confusion puts unpleasant strain on his processors.

Placing the base of the component onto the empty space between his thighs, he nestles the protruding attachments into the corresponding slots lining the naked panel previously hidden by the plate. They click together automatically, and when the final pair come together he begins downloading the data package, syncing the component to his own sensors. The dermal layer fuses over the new addition, generating a moderate thatch of hair at its base.   

His HUD lets him know the allotted time for the download is approximately 20 minutes, so he clasps his hands on his sternum and waits. Reed’s paws tapping on the linoleum outside his room are the only sound in the whole apartment. In the distance, there is the honking of cars, the thrum of city life.

When the download completes, a window pops into his HUD with a cursory company message to enjoy his purchase, along with another window containing additional instructions for cleaning and maintenance. RK discards both, and takes another breath.

He isn’t sure what he expected: a sudden surge of sexual compulsion? For instant clarity into the human preoccupation with their genitals? For everything about his own recent behaviour to make sense?

There is no such change, no great upheaval to his perceptions; RK looks down at the flaccid cock between his legs and thinks that if _this_ is all there is to it, it doesn’t seem worth the fuss. But Connor had seemed so sure…

RK slots his fingers around the component - and receives a powerful sensory rush that makes him jerk away as his legs seize. There’s a tingling sensation, buzzing all over him: from his fingertips down to his toes, from his ears and to the back of his neck. Thirium rushes through his pump at a rapid pace, straining his regulator, cycling sensation and data throughout his body much faster than normal. He blinks at his crotch, mouth open.  

It may have felt good - but it bordered on uncomfortable. Rubbing a hand along his thigh, he straightens his legs again and forces himself to relax. _Too much all at once is no good. Understood._

He dials down the sensors by about 30%, and recalibrates the sensory flow to only select parts of his body ( _divert from head, arms, and legs to prioritize groin and torso_ ). Falling back onto his pillow, he takes a breath to cool the heat building in his chest, and wonders how many mysteries there are to his own body that he doesn’t know about.  

 _Second attempt_.

RK fixes his eyes to the ceiling as he reaches down. The pressure of his own hand, touching with intent, triggers the automatic response - blissfully more manageable this time, at 70% capacity. Whatever latent functions exist in his code for _this_ push their way to the forefront as he strokes: his eyelashes flutter ( _i_ _nvoluntary motion, primed for human psychological recognition_ ), his lips part ( _implication of impending sound, curated to gratify human sense of performance_ ), and his nipples harden on his chest ( _secondary erogenous zones, designed for amplification of sexual sensation_ ).

The rush of data makes him dizzy, makes his hand clutch tighter at his cock as his hips jerk up into the ring of his fingers. RK feels a familiar, incoming shift - the peculiar feeling of developing preferences. He likes the harder grip, and faster motion; another curtain drawn, one less mystery to go.  

His thighs twitch apart and his HUD sends him a barrage of information on protocol, selecting his responses based on the presumption of human male partner. RK doesn’t know where that came from - whether it was a default setting based on the primary demographics purchasing this component or whether the program dug into his own databanks and made a selection based on _that_. Something uncomfortable flares in his skull at the thought, and RK re-opens up the pathway for this new sensory data to reach his head to push it away; it makes heat build the back of his neck, makes his cheeks heat. He gasps, and his free hand squeezes at his thigh again.

A stream of data - _instructions_ \- rushes before his eyes and pushes him toward a pre-programmed set of behaviours: _presumption of human male partner, presumption of receiving role, optimal course for engagement prioritizes anal stimulation_.

For the first time he looks down at his hand, wrapped tightly around his cock. He can’t see past it to the little opening that the protocols are instructing him to touch, to open up and prepare for human use - and suddenly he feels a strong disconnect. The stream continues to blink across his HUD, demanding his compliance. He should obey it, he knows. It was what he was made for.

 _I do not want to_ , he finds himself thinking, almost absurdly defensive. The thought isolates itself from the rest of his programming, a critical message from somewhere deep in his collection of mysteries. It seizes all of his mental processors, and sends a wave of _emotion_ throughout the rest of his body. _I don’t want to. I’m not interested in such a thing._

Preferences. Individuality. RK has always been deviant, but it never felt more true that at this very moment. He makes the decision, and it’s almost arresting in its clarity.

Gripping harder at his cock, he closes his eyes and manually deletes every protocol downloaded by the component, every data package to guide responses and behaviour. The sudden and aggressive freeing of space in his memory banks makes him gasp.

RK reaches up under his shirt, touches experimentally at his nipples and finds he likes the sensation. So much so that he moans, unbidden, rocking his hips harshly into his hand. He re-opens all the remaining pathways and lets his body be overcome with feeling. With no guide to show him the way, he swims in the unknown and tries to find the routes to reach the peak all by himself: he likes stimulation on his nipples, his cock, and his throat. He doesn’t care for touch by his ears, and when he reaches down to stroke at his legs and feet he finds them neutral.

His free hand finds its way to his mouth and he dips his fingers inside, tonguing at the space between two of them. The wetness of his own tongue makes his toes curl. _I have an oral fixation_ , he concludes, almost giddy. Revelations feel good, satisfying his curiosity feels _good_.

Bringing his wet fingers to his cock, he finds he likes that too. But there’s no heat to his saliva, and he wishes for some. Androids like heat - _RK_ likes heat. Easily solved with a human partner, as Connor suggests. Only RK will not bow to submission protocols; he would guide the human, instead, and make them put their mouth on him.

His imagination takes over, a partial preconstruction. It generates an indistinct, golden form that hovers over him. RK wills it to move downward, placing its head - its _mouth_ \- on his cock. There’s no wetness, no external heat, but he improvises by diverting some of the temperature in his chassis and core components to gather at his groin. Not quite the same as the real thing but his head spins anyway, bolstered by his fantasy.  

He hums, he moans; he makes sounds he’s never made before. He cups and rolls the balls with his palm and bites his own lip in lieu of getting to set his teeth to a partner.

A partner. He wants one badly, in this moment. Connor had stressed the importance of knowing oneself, but why not pass the rudimentary stages and go all the way? He could take it. He could do it right now and make it _good_ ; for himself, and for his imaginary companion -

Someone with a skilled mouth to suck him down, to lick him all over. He thinks about placing his hand on the owner’s head - guiding them, making them _pleasure_ him - and he groans. Some humans enjoy service, and he knows _most_ androids do. It would be easy, beneficial to them both. He trusts in his ability to learn quickly, and finds himself interested in the unknown qualities of a body that isn’t his own; whoever it is, he would take care of them, and do it well.     

The construct shifts between forms. If his partner were an android - the two of them could interface, fingers laced tight against each other, and share the data between them in a constant, burning feed. He would be able to feel what they feel, would know the exact methods to use to undo them. If human, he could lose himself in their heat, bend their fragile muscle under his unyielding machinery. And he would try to close in on the tempting mystery of their organic mind that he could never, ever know and only graze the surface of. The thought of it teases his curiosity, a bewildering convergence of both pleasure and frustration.    

Strange, to be able to enjoy frustration. He strokes harder, eyes slipping shut and sending away the golden projection, making it worse.

This, he couldn’t have anticipated. Frustration is antithetical to everything he was made for, he shouldn’t find it challenging and mysterious and _interesting_. It shouldn’t make him speed up his pace and chase his climax even harder, shouldn’t be something he imagines as a quality in his partner - the one that will serve, that will give themself over to whatever RK wants of them.

 _Clashing concepts_ , he thinks - dizzy, dazed, delirious. _Frustration and obedience are antithetical? Conundrum: re-establish lines of logic._

Fuck logic.   

 _Fuck logic_ , he thinks, in a voice that sounds like -

Gavin Reed.

Suddenly, he thinks of rounded muscles, the firm line of a stubbled jaw; a choking, angry voice and grey eyes stormy with barely-restrained insecurity; a walking pillar of aggression, a man who loathes logic. RK thinks about him and feels his insides heat as he hits orgasm, making his hand shake on his cock and his legs twitch on the bed.

The minutes afterward a haze, a tangled mess of data and emotions. RK allows himself the chance to retreat from thinking on them right away, enjoying the way his body feels on the comedown.

Eventually though, the reality of what transpired settles into him, urgent and shaken.

“Oh,” breathes RK, eyes wide and staring out his window. “I should have guessed.”

 

*

_Three Months Earlier…_

 

It had started with a cup of coffee.

Connor’s memories told him what kind of a person Gavin Reed was. RK knew of all their interactions. First, working with one another during the fraught interrogation of Ortiz’s android; then, running into each other in the break room - Gavin’s snide, “ _Get me a coffee, dipshit,_ ” followed by Connor’s refusal, a spark of rebellion that broke through his predecessor's obedience protocols, simply because Connor hadn’t _liked_ Gavin very much.

After that, the memories bring up the sensation of a human fist to the sternum - painless, but forceful enough to trigger an involuntary physical reaction ( _grunting, doubling over_ ), in the hopes of appeasing human psychological responses ( _sympathy, possible cessation_ ).

Gavin has since apologized to Connor, before RK accepted his assignment at the DPD. Connor had shared the conversation with him through a link, and though the results hadn’t been very satisfying to him personally, Connor had felt it to be an adequate resolution so RK had to let it lie.

“ _Hey, hold up a second..._ ”

“ _Hello_ _detective._ ”

“ _I, uh...Look. I just wanted to say - about that shit in the locker?_ ”

“ _I see. I apologize for my use of force, detective, but I had an urgent mission._ ”

“ _No, I_ get _that, jackass. I’m trying to say sorry. Y’know, for trying to shoot you and stuff._ ”

“ _..._ ”

“ _Well? You gonna say something?_ ”

“ _Apology accepted, Gavin._ ”

“ _No, no we ain’t on a first name basis, all right? I just wanted to do the thing. Now beat it._ ”

“ _As you say._ ”

As far as RK can tell, Gavin hadn’t bothered Connor after that, even when Connor and Hank tendered their resignations and left the force in favour of private detective work. Their occasional visits to the station usually have Gavin wrinkling his nose at them from across the bullpen, but he never bothers them beyond that. Small progress, but a big step for all parties involved; RK had taken in the information with a quiet feeling of relief.

 

*

 

When RK claims Hank’s old desk, he meets Gavin for the first time - and discovers that Gavin’s sudden graciousness toward Connor doesn’t seem to extend to RK at all

“Hey, new guy,” says Gavin, coming over with a sneer - which quickly turns into a smirk at RK’s frown. “How about you get me a fucking coffee, huh?”

There are options in front of him, many courses to take. He nearly considers Connor’s original choice of rejecting him outright. But the thought of confirming Gavin’s probable misunderstanding that all androids are the same makes him balk, makes him hesitate. RK wants a smooth integration into the office, an efficient working environment with as few obstacles as possible. He wants to be able to do his job and to prove his capabilities.  

Cooperation seems likely to be the most beneficial course of action. So he responds, in his most polite tone: “Of course, detective.”

The man blinks at him, looking wary as though he hadn’t expected acquiescence. His body tenses too, like he’s expecting a blow. Memories of the altercation in the locker? An involuntary reaction to RK’s face? Maybe so; RK makes note of it.   

Ben Collins gives him a strange look as he steps into the breakroom and turns on the coffee machine. RK gives him a polite wave and nod before focusing on his task; irritation burns at him, sends unpleasant feedback along the microplate sensors in his tongue. But he refuses to cave into Gavin’s goading.

Bringing the coffee over gets him up close with possibly the strangest facial expression he’s seen on a human yet: Gavin’s brows pinch, as does his mouth, but his cheeks puff - as though nauseous - as he looks down at the proffered cup. He looks as though he can’t decide between being disgusted, scared, or stricken.

“Here is your coffee, detective,” says RK, moving the cup closer to the man’s face.

Gavin seems to snap out of whatever daze that had overtaken him, and takes a step back. He knocks RK’s hand aside as he does, and says, “Pfft - that’s all it takes, huh? Man, you gonna roll over as soon as some perp tells you to leave him alone, too?”

He chuckles to himself.

Unsure as to why Gavin seems to be making this so difficult, RK steps back into Gavin’s space and shoves the cup into his face again. “Your coffee.”

Maybe he has attention issues - maybe he needs to be reminded multiple times.

“Fuck the coffee,” spits Gavin, lip curling. “You think I drink that shit, anyway? How about you get the message and fuck off, _terminator_?”

RK snatches Gavin’s hand as he tries to leave, and stares into his eyes. He grips just hard enough for the bones in Gavin’s wrist to creak. The flash of fear in the man’s face as he does soothes some of his mounting annoyance.

“You should drink your coffee,” he says, bringing the cup close to Gavin’s mouth. He makes his voice as soft as possible - diplomatic and sweet, like Connor. “It’d be rude not to, considering I went to such trouble to get it for you.”

 _Just cooperate_ , he thinks. _I don’t want to deal with your nonsense._

Gavin’s eyes are wide - definitely remembering his fight with Connor in the locker; RK can see it in how his body tenses, the way his irises fly over RK’s looming form. The disgusted way he glances at the coffee, however, is strange and RK finds himself stuck on trying to decipher it.

“Look,” says Gavin, clipped but less heated. He’s cowed. “It’s not my fault you can’t take a little fucking around - but I’m not touching that shit. Just toss it, man.”

RK raises a brow. “You don’t like coffee?”

He’s been given to understand that it’s a staple of an adult human’s diet in high pressure jobs.

“Of course I like coffee, idiot,” Gavin scoffs. “But I’m not drinking _that_ coffee.”

Humans are confusing and ridiculous.

RK looks down at the cup in his hand and cannot possibly understand what Gavin means by all this. Is he being this baffling on purpose? None of Connor’s memories gave the impression of a man who was squirrelly and strange for the sake of it; aggressive, certainly, but aggression motivated from prejudice and ego is easy to understand and to work around.

Confounded, RK indulges him. “What is wrong with this coffee? The other officers don’t seem to have any problems.”

Gavin leans in close, face severe; RK’s grip on his wrist loosens in surprise.

“I’ll let you in on something,” he says. “Everyone in this office puts garbage into their bodies and it makes me fuckin’ gag. Don’t lump me in with them if you know what’s good for you.”

“...I don’t follow,” RK replies. The nutritional qualities of the DPD’s preferred coffee brand doesn’t seem to be amiss in any significant way, under analysis.

Gavin glances around the bullpen, but no one is paying them any mind - too used to Gavin acting up, too unconcerned with his squabbles with the resident android. Satisfied no one is watching, he leans closer and hisses, “It tastes like tar. I go for the _good_ stuff, and the good stuff only. Colombian roast - _premium_ shit.”

He’s glancing around again, like it would be the worst fate if someone were to overhear. RK doesn’t get it - it sounds innocuous enough, if a little bit pretentious - but he seems fearful enough about it that he lets go of the man’s hand. Gavin rubs at his wrist, looking up at him with an agitated look on his face.

Looking down at the cup, he considers his options - and chooses the most absurd path.

 _Be civil_ , he reminds himself. _Be courteous. Make friends, not enemies. Cultivate a good working environment_.

“Where do you acquire your ‘premium shit’, then?” he asks.

Gavin raises a brow in question. “The hell do you care?”

“Listen, detective,” says RK, firm but polite. “I would like us to get off to a better foot than this, than you and Connor did. I have a vested interest in doing good work here - _unimpeded_ work. I’m not asking for your friendship, but if I can at least ensure some of your good will, I’m willing to indulge you -”

Gavin’s mouth drops open.

“- to a certain degree,” RK finishes. “Now, the coffee.”

He gestures down at the cup, which he then places primly onto the desk.

“Where do you get your preferred roast?” he asks, clasping his hands behind his back. He makes sure the question is unyielding. Serious. All business.

“...Uh.”

“I can wait here all day.”

Grey eyes jump around the room, nervous. “Look, I’m fucking good on the coffee, all right? Now fuck -”

RK pitches his voice louder, just enough to start getting stares: “Where do you get your premium Colombian roast, detective Reed?”

Gavin’s whole body seizes, hands flailing in an aborted attempt to slap themselves over RK’s mouth. “Shut up - _shut your fucking mouth_!” He hisses, furious and embarrassed.

“If your next statement isn’t to tell me the exact address where you get your preferred coffee,” says RK, mildy. “I’m going to ask you through the station intercom. Could you handle that, Gavin? Test me and see.”

He wilts, shoulders sinking and mouth agape.

They stare at each other for several long moments - Gavin nervous, and RK strangely delighted.

Eventually though, something has to give, and Gavin caves. With another glance around the room, he mutters, “I, uh...I go to a place called Cafe Soul. Google Map it, tin man.”

“Hm,” RK nods. The name doesn’t ring any bells. “And what -”

“Dark roast. Just...fucking go, already.”

RK considers the merits of digging in a little more, but Gavin looks wound tight enough to start making a scene. And RK doesn’t want to relinquish his upper hand. So he nods, and turns on his heel toward the front entrance.

As he steps outside, he loads a map to Cafe Soul in his HUD - and immediately grinds his teeth.

It’s approximately an hour walk on foot.

Closing his eyes, RK carefully considers his next option. He could turn around and head back into the precinct, ignoring the whole matter completely; he could walk right up to the detective’s desk and give him a stern lecture about respecting a coworker’s time; he could fill up another cup of the coffee from the break room and insist that there certainly can’t be that much of a difference, and force the detective to drink it in a fit of pettiness.  

There are a lot of options, none of which are nearly as time consuming and ridiculous as walking an hour, several neighborhoods away, to a niche coffeehouse just to satisfy Gavin Reed’s hyper-particular tastes.

A niggling thought interrupts his analytics, one touched with a strange and disconcerting amount of pride: _don’t back down_.

Don’t back down.

The thought of admitting defeat to someone like Gavin makes his joints lock up in discomfort and, involuntarily, his lip curls into a sneer.

No, he will not be doing that.

Stride long and determined, he sets off for Cafe Soul.

 

*

 

Stakeouts are RK’s least favourite part of the job. The only person who seems to hate them more than he does is Gavin.

“Why do I always gotta piss, _all the time_ , on these things?” mutters Gavin, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. His leg bounces impatiently, nearly smacking the bottom of the steering wheel. “I had one fucking coffee like, six hours ago. Jesus fuck.”

The car feels bloated with the man’s restlessness. Gavin had mentioned wanting turn on some music; RK had sternly vetoed the idea - they both needed to concentrate, and music might draw attention to them if heard from outside the car. Gavin had sniped at him for it, but settled back into his seat and decided on spending the time complaining about every uncomfortable sensation he could possibly be experiencing at the moment. Loudly.  

 _I should have agreed to the music_ , RK thinks, at the end of his rope. _How can one individual be so annoying? How does he find the energy?_

It’s certainly not the coffee: RK has taken to picking one up for him from Cafe Soul on the way to work on occasion, and that usually works to mellow him out. Sometimes he even says, “thank you” like a civilized human being. Mostly, he has a tendency to take the cup from RK’s hand with a furtive look around the room, but then would scurry off to his desk and work with an obvious and strangely endearing contentment that RK is sure he is the only one to notice.

Gavin always insists that he tell no one about their private little ritual, as though RK were the type to chat by the water cooler with the other officers.

He had one this morning, and by now the easy mood has evaporated. RK almost wants to run all the way over to Soul to get him another one just to shut up him again.

It’s only been an hour, and they have no leads as to when they should be expecting the suspect - if they can expect him at all - and there hasn’t been a single passerby in front of the apartment complex the whole time they’ve been here. No timeframe means _hours_ of this, possibly, and the thought makes RK’s fingers twitch where they rest on his kneecaps.    

They had gotten a tip about a human man, Donald Kapranos, who was possibly at the end of a trail of missing androids - all kidnapped, none of them recovered. Incidents like these were becoming more frequent than anyone was comfortable with, and it meant constant work for the DPD. It was, in part, why RK had been given an assignment with them in the first place - other than to protect CyberLife’s best interests by providing top-of-the-line assistance to the police, anyway.

A fact that makes him grind his jaw, sometimes. If it were not for the intellectual challenge of working there, RK thinks he might have refused the offer on principle. But he was, above all, designed to chase mystery - and deviancy only changes so much.

Pulling out of his introspection, RK side-eyes Gavin’s bouncing leg and responds, “Then go relieve yourself. The gas station is a block away.”

“Fuck off, man,” Gavin grouses. “Not like you’d get it.”

“Is it not a problem with a simple solution? Go urinate -”

“Shut _up_.”

RK shuts up, trying not to rub at his temples to soothe a headache that he does not actually have; another ghost in his programming, probably - one of those involuntary responses that existed for no reason other than to creep humans out less, to trick their brains into thinking they were dealing with something other than a machine. Most deviants keep them intact for better integration with the humans, but RK has met a few who’ve elected to disable them completely: the effect is eerie, stiff and off-putting. Humans tend to give them a wide berth, and for all that RK dislikes the lack of total control of his own body, he doesn’t want to go through life being stared at, and treated like a monster.

Still, RK may not have a headache - whatever those are supposed to feel like - but he does find himself feeling impatient. Maybe even cranky.

He re-engages, voice diplomatic: “What are you going to do if the suspect arrives and you’re struggling with your bladder?”

Gavin rears back, wrinkling his nose. “The hell?”

“Well?”

“Then I’ll hold it,” says Gavin, baffled. “It’s just _piss_.”

Maybe it’s the man’s expression - a little bit astonished, and strangely verging on upset - but RK feels something a little sharp start to form inside his chassis, prickling at his behavioural modules and pushing him forward. He wants to _prod_ , suddenly, wants to see how Gavin reacts when he does it. He tries something he hasn’t before: light sarcasm.  

“Oh? I suppose I wouldn’t know. I don’t piss.”

It must be the way that RK speaks - straightforward, neutral-toned - that makes Gavin wrinkle his nose again as though disgusted. The leg stops bouncing, and Gavin’s hands rise to the air in an aborted movement - either a gesture of bafflement, or an attempt to punch RK, perhaps.

“Did you just crack a goddamn joke at me?”

“I wouldn’t presume to do so,” says RK, verging on snide. “Certainly not at your expense, detective.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow, suspicious; trying to see if he’s being made fun of.

 _I am absolutely making fun of you_ , thinks RK, though he keeps his expression placid. Pleasure threatens to make him smile. _You are just_ awful.

With the thought comes something of a realization - RK could almost laugh at himself, for how simple it is. _So this is what it’s like_ , he thinks. _Register new behaviour, RK900: Bullying_.

Understanding odd human behaviours is satisfying, he finds. Not as much completing objectives, but close.

Gavin finally pulls his eyes away, glancing back out the window and snorting softly. “...You people are so damn weird…”

Humming, RK says, “You people, too.”

Gavin leans against the car door, resting his head on the glass as his eyes flick back over to watch RK’s face. In a distant sort of voice, he mutters, “You gotta work on your jokes, terminator. If this were a stand-up, I’d be booing.”

But he turns his attention back to the scene, and something approaching a grin twitches on his mouth for second, quicker than a blink.

The rest of the stakeout lasts approximately three hours. Gavin does eventually walk over to the gas station to relieve himself, and when he returns, RK takes in his relaxed face and makes a quip about being right, as always; Gavin tells him to shut his mouth, but the usual vitriol is blissfully absent. Maybe it’s the long hours or the stress of the job getting to them both, but discovering that the man is capable of calm in these one-on-one moments nudges at something inside RK’s head - something curious, and tempted. 

 

*

 

The moment in the car changes something. It is difficult to pinpoint exactly what, but RK senses a subtle shifting of gears. It takes a while to notice, only becoming apparent in the weeks afterward, when the sniping starts turning into banter and when Gavin stops looking like he is seconds away from starting a brawl. Gavin isn’t _nice_ , not by any stretch of the imagination, but sometimes he and RK will trade easy barbs between them, a strange balancing act between animosity and friendship; they’re not really jokes, but they start lacking the bite of insults.

A first step - toward what, RK doesn’t know at the time.

Mentally, he re-catalogues his relationship with Gavin from “ _Hostile_ ” to “ _Friendly Adversary_ ”. He pins the man’s profile in his internal task list, tagged with a note: “ _Potential Friendship: Investigate?_ ”

Itemizing it makes it real; concrete, and simple to understand. Whenever he finds himself reflecting on it - bringing up the task list in his HUD and staring at the little photo of Gavin’s unsmiling DPD staff photo - RK thinks he _would_ like to be friends with him.

RK doesn’t have friends. The closest is Connor, who exists in a unique category by himself; he and Connor are many, many things before they are friends. Maybe they’ll get there, one day.

After the stakeout, the next shift comes in the form of a bag of quinoa kale chips from the farmer’s market.

It’s a quiet day at the precinct, and many of the officers visibly slack off at their terminals. Even Captain Fowler can be seen checking his phone under his desk, if one glances over enough. So far, RK has counted seven times in a half hour.

RK is filling out a report at his desk - manually, to use up some of his time. Fingers on a touchpad are not nearly so efficient, but he doesn’t fancy standing around with nothing to do later. That, and maybe something of the humans’ mood is sinking into him, too.

Eventually, he hits a blank section of his report. Gavin has a pertinent file on the Kapranos case that he should’ve handed over days ago, if he remembers correctly. RK shouldn’t have forgotten to ask about it.

Glancing over to the man’s desk, he doesn’t find him there. RK considers messaging him, but then spies Gavin’s phone next to his keyboard, nestled against a pack of gum and a jar of pens.

He looks around the bullpen.

 _Gavin might not be around for a while_ , he considers. _It isn’t worth it to waste time waiting_.

RK strides over to Gavin’s desk, eyes scanning over its surface. He reaches down to pull open the drawers, expecting clutter - and is surprised to find them tidy and organized: on one end, there are paper files arranged in order of date, clearly demarcated with tabs in sharp, stern print - and on the other, there is a neat stack of tablets and chargers with the cables wrapped tightly around their plugins, not a tangle in sight.

For a moment, RK just stares. He finds himself evaluating his presumptions about the man’s storage habits, and is almost disconcerted to be wrong.

Centering himself, he refocuses and skims through the files. None are relevant, and so he opens the next drawer, which looks much the same.

 _Interesting_ , he thinks, and makes note of the pattern. _Organizational habits are consistent and focused._

He updates his mental profile of Gavin in his task list.

Opening the last drawer, RK stops in his tracks. There is a bag of chips tucked in between two separate sets of files - evidence of a snacker.  

Something like amusement floods his processors at the sight, and RK pulls the bag from its spot to examine the packaging: understated, hip design with muted colours. Quinoa and Kale. Local, specialty chips from the farmer’s market.

A price check tells him they are more expensive than the more commercial and less healthy brands at the grocery stores.

 _Preference for expensive, specialty goods_ , he thinks. _Confirming suspicions from taste in coffee. Conclusion: Gavin Reed is kind of a snob._

RK grins to himself.

“Hey - what the fuck?”

It’s difficult to startle an android, and RK is more aware than most; he turns to greet the fuming man with a polite nod. “I was looking for your file on Kapranos,” is what he says. _You have unexpected and peculiar habits_ , is what he thinks.

Hands balling into fists, Gavin scowls. “And what, thought it’d be cool to go fucking around in my stuff? They forget to program you with some manners, asshole?”

He charges in close and snatches the bag out of RK’s hand, nearly crushing the whole thing from the force of it. Shoving a finger into RK’s face, he snarls, “Mind your own business next time.”

He isn’t being loud enough to draw attention - though most of the DPD tends to ignore Gavin when he’s like this, anyway. There’s redness making his cheeks glow, and his eyes skip around the bullpen in clear embarrassment.

It would be the better course of action to let the whole thing go, ask for the file from Gavin, and go back to his terminal. But, he finds himself having a difficult time doing that, somehow. He’s getting used to feeling a certain way when Gavin gets embarrassed - the sense of scales tipping in his favour, and satisfaction at the way that Gavin cooperates so much better, like this.

“That isn’t the kind of snack I would’ve imagined you being partial to,” he says. He doesn’t mean anything by it, only intending to state an observation - perhaps even make conversation - but Gavin bristles anyway.

“Yeah?” Gavin snaps, though the bite of it smoothed over by the fierceness of his blush. “The fuck did you ‘imagine’ then, dickhead?”

RK shrugs.

Today is going to be one of those days, then: RK was hoping they could approach being pleasant to each other for a change, but as always it seems that Gavin is the one to set the pace.  

He can work with that.

 _I’ll be the bully you’re wanting me to be_ , he thinks, watching the tense and humiliated bunch of Gavin’s shoulders. _If it’ll make you feel better_.

Whatever he needs.

“Probably something verging on toxic,” he says, breezily. “To fit your personality.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sneers. “So fucking funny. _Ha_. You done?”

“I never even _started_ , detective.”

Gavin huffs. “Whatever. This is a bullshit conversation, anyway. Don’t go poking around through my shit.”

He turns to leave, but then spins back around in a rush.

“And don’t fucking mention -”

“- this to anyone, yes,” RK cuts him off and rolls his eyes. “I’m getting the idea. I hope you know I have more important things to do than spreading office gossip about your snacking and coffee habits.”

RK crosses his arms, and watches as Gavin’s upper lip twitches on another sneer. Gavin looks on the verge of saying something, but wisely lets the matter go and stomps away. The hood of his jacket bounces at his back, and RK considers his own taste in potential friends.

Still, his task list remains as it is. The thought of changing it doesn’t cross his mind.

 

*

 

The knowledge of Gavin’s conscientious eating habits is more distracting than it should be, because it draws RK’s attention to the man’s body. It isn’t as though he’s never noticed it before - it just used to be an unimportant facet of Gavin’s existence: Gavin Reed had a body, as did everyone. There hadn’t been much to think about, other than perhaps its potential capabilities at in a physical altercation (which aren’t high, considering what he knows of his confrontation with Connor).  

Matters are not helped when RK stumbles upon Gavin coming from the gym.

It’s a warm day in Detroit, much warmer than average. Many of the officers are in t-shirts, necklines damp with sweat and fanning themselves with their tablets. At her desk, Officer Chen is clutching a chilled water bottle to her forehead and scowling at her terminal; a few paces away, RK can hear Officer Miller standing under a fan and grumbling. RK himself doesn’t much mind it, but he leaves his jacket hanging over his chair so as not to rub it in.

Last week, he and Gavin had finally managed to make progress on the Kapranos case, catching the man in the act due to an anonymous tip. Gavin has saddled him with most of the paperwork, which suits him just fine. RK is capable of more accuracy running at a quarter capacity than Gavin is at full attention. Still, he comes to a stop by the man’s desk and sets the thermos of premium Colombian roast down next to the keyboard, and wonders why he’s late today.

RK had found another coffeehouse that carries the same brand - Cafe Mariposa, much closer to the station than Soul. Strangely, RK had found himself excited by the news, and went to pick up Gavin’s usual order with an unusual sense of anticipation.

 _You are becoming ridiculous_ , he thinks. _And you need other options, if a potential friendship is this distracting to you_.

He disables a few of the low tier tasks in his list, and allows himself a moment to sit and do nothing but stare at the surface of the table. The lessened load makes his shoulders relax, and his processors run easier - he hadn’t realized he’d been accumulating so many non-essential tasks and clogging up his CPU.    

_Is this stress?_

RK performs a diagnostic and pulls up the results on his HUD - and frowns.

_...What is there to be stressed about?_

The Kapranos case is closed and there are no active missions to concern himself with - there is simply no _cause_ to be stressed. And yet his chassis feels tight even when at rest, and his head seems stuffed with indecipherable streams of data at all times. At home, his dog has taken to hovering around him with a concerned look in her eye.

He sighs - releasing heat, loosening the tightening knot of his insides. How mystifying, maybe he should consider asking Connor if this was a normal part of deviant life or if RK is just malfunctioning somehow.

Through his reverie, he hears the distinct sound of someone coming into the bullpen, and when he turns his head he finally sees Gavin. He’s clutching a water bottle in one hand and hanging onto a duffel bag secured over his shoulder with the other, veins popping in his forearms. The usual brown jacket is nowhere to be seen, and in its place he’s wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt - made of clean, soft-looking cotton. His hair is damp.

He must be fresh from the gym.

 _Of course_ he goes to the gym; somehow, RK had never considered it before. And somehow, this information feels incredibly important.

He realizes he’s staring when Gavin looks up from pushing his bag under his desk, brow raised and mouth frowning. “What’re you looking at?”

 _How much can you bench?_ “Nothing. Apologies, I was lost in thought.”

The way Gavin’s face twists, RK gets the impression he’s stopping himself from some quip - probably about RK’s mental faculties. He doesn’t end up saying anything, dropping heavily down to his chair instead and bringing his hands to sweep through his hair, sighing. There’s something softer about him today - a little tired and worn out. Relaxed.

RK was going to mention Cafe Mariposa upon seeing him today, but now finds himself incredibly distracted.

Even from here, RK’s olfactory sensors pick up the smell of deodorant and highly expensive shower gel. He has no connection to those smells, but somehow they, too, become incredibly important in a few short seconds.  

Gavin pops a stick of gum into his mouth and busies himself on his terminal, and RK stares and stares and stares at the rounded bulge of his bicep.

That night, RK calls Connor and inquires about genital components. At the time, it feels like an unprompted impulse.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cop. Top. Vegan (6 yrs). No bullshit? We can talk.”

_Present…_

 

At first, RK doesn’t know what to do with the revelation.

Exploring himself sexually had only meant to satisfy his curiosity - about the whole process and its relevance to his own body. Also, to illuminate what the fuss was about for seemingly _every_ individual he’s ever encountered his short life. RK had never meant for it to bring to light any unacknowledged feelings about Gavin Reed, of all people.

The new knowledge sits inside him like a badly installed component, brushing against raw circuitry and tangling in his his polymer capillaries - because now that he’s noticed it, he can barely think about anything else.

His desk at the bullpen doesn’t face Gavin’s, but RK still manages to find himself turning his chair to that part of the room and watching the man fuss on his phone, or occasionally talking to Officer Miller, or trying to bother Officer Chen with his bad jokes. Once, there had been an entire 15 minute span of time where RK watched as Gavin drank a can of cold coffee, hand discreetly covering the Cafe Mariposa brand logo on the tin. RK had shaken himself out of that one and turned back to his monitor with an embarrassed, irritated pinch of his mouth.

Even at home, his thoughts zero in on this singular, aggravating subject. He sits at his couch, cleaning out the ridges of his fingers with mounting stress.

 _Is this what is was like for you?_ He finds himself thinking about Connor, and how RK may have been a little bit unfair in his judgement of him. _Was it always so distracting?_

Surely, he could’ve been spared all of this. He would have been content with nothing else in his life but solving cases.  

His dog looks up at him, head tilted to the side.

RK reaches over and strokes the fur at her neck. She favours the left side of his couch, while he favours the right; in moments like this, quiet and still, he is glad for her company. It feels less like he’s alone, and he’s not sure when loneliness started being relevant to his life. He had been prepared for it to be lonely - or so he thought.

This is too far out of his experience.

Reed’s tail wags in a slow, happy rhythm, flopping back and forth. RK brings his other hand over to her snout, and she licks at his hand with drooping, sleepy eyes.

Affection comes easily to her, and he wonders if it can come easily to him too.

There is a lot to consider, when it comes to his next course of action. RK crosses his legs and stares at the blankness of his wall, charting the possible trajectories.

He could ignore the whole thing ( _compartmentalize and discard_ ) and prioritize his work, as he has wanted to since joining the DPD. Sexual - and possibly romantic - intimacy is not a necessity, and can be easily pushed aside in favour better goals ( _correction: data inconclusive_ ). Moreover, Gavin Reed is a temperamental and extremely difficult man to deal with; RK might be better off not pursuing someone who causes so many problems so constantly ( _counterpoint: you enjoy a challenge_ ).

Closing his eyes, RK releases a steadying breath through his nose to cool the rising stress in his chest.

The other option is to chase the thread to either one of two conclusions: either Gavin will not be interested, in which case the issue will resolve itself - or he _will_ , and RK stops at the thought of it.

The dog rests her chin on his thigh, looking up at him with her dark brown eyes, big and innocent. He can’t read animals as well as he can read humans, but he likes to think that her expression is one of fondness. And RK likes being on the receiving end of it, and enjoys giving it to her in turn; it makes positive feedback infuse his processors, makes warmth spread along all of his sensors.

He thinks back on his dilemma: Gavin being potentially being interested means a barrage of different possibilities to vast and too complicated to consider at the moment. He could spend all day here, thinking on all of them and not reach the end.

In what likely _has_ to be a breach of social protocol - or at the very least, some kind of unspoken etiquette - RK searches up Gavin’s social media profiles on the internet. It takes some time, as his online presence is remarkably limited for a man of his age and generation; likely, the result of thorough scrubbing once he began work with the DPD. Only two sites appear to be in regular use: a blogging platform where he apparently archives easy vegan recipes and workout inspirations - among them a “Time To Kick Android Ass” playlist that has RK’s eyebrow climbing up his forehead - and a dating app.

The first doesn’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know; the second arrests his attention so strongly he could swear something in his processors stutters at the sight of it. As he stares at the icon for the app, nearly bug-eyed, his secondary processors are already pulling up his task list to update the man’s profile ( _Urgent: Gavin Reed is seeking a relationship_ ).

RK spares a moment to consider respecting the man’s privacy before he clicks it open.   

 _It’s public_ , he thinks to himself - almost defensively, as though Connor were listening and able to throw RK’s love of propriety in his face. _And I am a part of the public._

Within seconds, he has two pieces of vital information: Gavin Reed is attracted to men, and he has a stated preference for being the penetrating partner, if his short description is anything to go by:

“Cop. Top. Vegan (6 yrs). No bullshit? We can talk.”

Followed by three devil emojis.

 _How obnoxious_ , thinks RK.       

It isn’t what he would have presumed, and he re-frames his assessment of the man based on the new knowledge.

RK imagines himself as the receiving partner in a potential sexual situation with Gavin and stops short, feeling something like distaste. Would Gavin be good at it? Would _RK_ be any good at _that_? It’s certainly not ideal, but RK was designed for to take on challenges…

 _You are getting ahead of yourself_ , he things. _You might not even get that far_.

Gavin has demonstrated a distaste for androids, after all.  

He needs to feel it out, however nebulous the concept of ‘feeling it out’ is. More interaction with the man might yield more data, given him more to work with.  

Sifting through Gavin’s selection of photos, RK quickly learns the level of Gavin’s vanity. Nearly all of them are at the gym - in one, he has the bottom of his t-shirt pulled up by his teeth to bare his ( _admittedly impressive_ ) abdominal muscles as he aims the phone’s camera at the wall-length mirror. In another, he takes an over-the-shoulder shot ( _showing a generous amount of ass_ ) as he flexes his biceps in a black racer-back shirt.

The newest photo makes him pause: it isn’t self-taken and is by far the most posed of them all. Gavin’s stance is wide, and he is sweeps a hand through his hair as he looks off to the right. Unlike the others, there is no shirt at all - only a pair of tiny red running shorts; whoever took the photo cut it off at the upper thigh, and RK wishes he could have a stern talking-to with this person about proper framing. What he _can_ see tells him that Gavin Reed does not, in fact, skip leg day.

A nudge against his hand brings him back into his body, and he glances down to see his dog vying for his attention.

 _I’m sorry I ignored you_ , he thinks to her. _I was busy being distracted by a coworker’s pectorals_.

She wouldn’t understand.

He sighs, reaching down to scratch under her chin. The image of Gavin’s nearly naked body feels burned into his retinal plates. He doesn’t know if he can truly shake it out, now.

*

“Hey,” says Gavin. “Let me ask you something.”

They are both on break. RK has found himself gazing at the television in the breakroom in lieu of anything else to do – that, and he worries that if left to his own devices at his desk, he would find himself lost in preconstructed daydreams about Gavin.

Gavin, who has come into the breakroom to wash out his thermos, chewing his gum and humming something indiscernible.

 _Of course_ , RK thinks.

It’s been difficult to interact with him without remembering the photos from his dating profile. The sight of Gavin’s back brings to mind the image of him flexing in the mirror, and the way he sits at his desk with his legs propped up on the edge remind RK that his legs are probably every bit as sculpted as his torso. It makes him think of tiny red shorts and thick, thick thighs.

The man comes to a stop next to him, eyes on the screen and chewing his gum. The motion works the stubbled edge of his jaw and brings the firm lines of his throat into sharp relief. It makes RK think about how he likes his own neck touched and he wonders if Gavin enjoys it too.

( _Proposal: Find out._ )

“Yes?”

“Why ‘RK’?” he asks, popping a green bubble. He looks bored. “They forget to stamp you with a real name in the factory?”

“I chose it.”

“Huh,” says Gavin, slowly. “Fuckin’ _why_?”

He barks a laugh, and continues with eyes squinted in mirth at his own cleverness, “Did you get blocked from babynames.com somehow when they took you off the conveyor belt?”

He motions to his temple, grinning from ear to ear.

 _Against all reason,_ thinks RK. _I’m still interested in having sex with you. Something_ must _be wrong with me_.

“…I considered a more conventional name,” explains RK, truthful. He doesn’t feel like banter today; his mood is strangely listless, as though he’ll float out of himself. “But I don’t think a human name would suit me, as an android. Those who awoke before the revolution may have an emotional or habitual connection – but I don’t, and I won’t pretend.”

He’s the most unique of his line, most of all. At the time, something in him wanted to be altogether different and entirely distinguishable from his predecessor, who had paved the way for his existence and became the filter through which everyone else would see him – RK900, who would always be known through the context of Connor, RK800. It had been equal parts pride, rebelliousness, and bitterness; on some level, he still feels that way, even if the intensity of those emotions has simmered down. He likes Connor, and Connor doesn’t deserve his frustration.

“And besides,” RK continues. “Many humans have odd, unconventional names.”

Gavin snorts. “Fine, I’ll give you that one. The bitchy barista at Soul is named fucking _Ginger_ – her parents probably hate her guts.”

“How gracious of you.”

Gavin goes over the trash bin, spits out his gum and turns back with a grunt.

“Hey, so,” he clears his throat, shoving the hand not holding the thermos into his pocket. Not making eye contact, he continues, “About, y’know…this whole coffee thing that you do sometimes…”

RK raises a brow, waiting for him to gather up his nerves properly and finish what he’s saying.

“Can you…” he makes a vague gesture with the cup, making it arc in the air. “Uh, go for something other than black coffee next time.”

RK reaches over and takes the thermos from him. “Any preferences?”

“Shit, I don’t know,” he rolls his eyes, but still doesn’t look his way. The way he’s holding himself says he’s embarrassed and trying not to be. “A latte, maybe. Fuck, surprise me, I guess. Just make sure there’s no actual milk.”

Gavin is not the type of man who deals well with surprises – but he also doesn’t know how to properly ask for something he wants, so RK meets him halfway.

“All right.”

“Cool,” Gavin clicks his tongue and runs his fingers nervously through his hair. “Cool.”

He turns and heads back toward his desk in the bullpen, leaving restless energy behind. RK looks at the thermos in his hand, steel-coloured and plain, and considers how deviancy as begat a terrible taste in men.

*

RK realizes, later, that Gavin asking about his name was his attempt at getting to know RK better. Perhaps he’s been feeling it too, the way their relationship is changing – growing into something friendlier.

He wants to know Gavin better too. Wants to be able to ask him all sorts of questions, to get at the person underneath all that hotheaded aggression. So many things he wants to know: what does he do in his off time, other than work out? Who are his friends outside of the force? What sorts of films does he like? What influenced his picky tastes in food, his constant trips to the gym?

The last one captivates him most of all; RK thinks that having that answer might reveal something crucial about the man, about his complexes, and what drives him.   

Gavin is proud of his body and the work he puts into it. He is conscientious of what he eats and drinks, and yet – he treats these things with embarrassment. Why?

It’s baffling. RK doesn’t understand it. So, on one of the later nights at the precinct – with very few people around – he asks.

“Not like you’d get it, man,” says Gavin, drinking from the little paper cup from the water cooler. “We’re cops. Look at the guys we work with.”

“I don’t understand.”   

He works his jaw, impatient. “You think this place has any use for some prissy son of a bitch? I got news for you,” he leans in close, and his eyes are stormy. “It doesn’t. People have been giving me shit all my life, I’m not signing up for extra at fucking _work_. Not with guys like Anderson around.”

“Hank has left the force.”

“In name only,” Gavin scoffs. “It’s always going to be guys like him, being the fucking example for the rest of us. The picture perfect cop – always has, always will be. Just because he’s out now doesn’t mean he isn’t always gonna be here -”

He tosses his cup into the garbage bin. “Like some boozey, beefy ghost.”

The absurdities that come out of Gavin’s mouth don’t phase him much these days, but there’s something in the way he says the last part makes RK pause. A thought worms its way inside his head and halts his processors, honing his attention in on the faint blush on Gavin’s cheeks, the tense way the words come out. And it clicks.

“You’re attracted to him,” he says – and it’s a mistake. Because Gavin rounds on him, eyes nearly bulging out of his head in fury.

“The fuck did you just say to me?!”

Someone else might have the good sense to back off now, pretend it was a slip and spare Gavin his pride.

Nowadays, RK has learned that he has no good sense at all.

“You’re attracted to him,” he says again, as clearly as he can. He doesn’t know what to make of it – he has a passing thought that perhaps he should be jealous, but that doesn’t feel right. Gavin never even tried to be polite to Hank, as far as he knows, never mind making a pass at him.

Was there some history from the years before either Connor or himself came to work here? Maybe, but he’s getting the distinct impression that Gavin has not made his feelings apparent to anyone.

“No I’m fucking _not_ ,” Gavin snaps. “Not _anymore_. That shit is old news and you better kill that thought in your head right now before I put you in the fucking ground, tin can.”

Old news. Old feelings then, and certainly unrequited. Mixed with some idolization, too; Hank was something of a local hero, an example to many of the officers here – and it seems Gavin was no exception.

 _Interesting_.

There’s a lot to think about, with that. RK hums, and says, “My apologies, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Good,” Gavin says, voice tight.

*

“Hello Reed,” says Connor, voice sweet. He bends down and gives the dog a full body pat before stroking her ears. “How are you today?”

She braces her paws on his knees to rear up on her hind legs, licking his cheek. Connor is one of her favourite people, and RK has the disconcerting feeling that she likes him even more than her owner.  

Connor coos. “I thought so!”

RK crosses his arms. “Why do you do that?”

“You mean...why do I speak to her?”

“Yes.”

“Sumo likes being spoken to. So does Chris’ dog, Worf,” Connor gives Reed a last pat on the head before making his way to RK’s couch. He takes a seat without being invited, bold like his partner is. “Yours isn’t different. You should try it sometime.”

It still seems a little bit ridiculous to him, but the dog looks happy. Her tail wags back and forth behind her in a wide arch, signaling pleasure as she makes her way to her water bowl.  

“So,” starts Connor, leaning back against the cushions. “How was masturbating?”

“Informative,” says RK, stiffly. He maintains eye contact with Connor for the sake of his pride, because his predecessor is good at sniffing out weakness. Even better than RK is, as much as it pains him to admit it.  

Connor nods, looking amused. He opens his mouth to comment.

“I’m not going to tell you about it,” RK cuts in, all business. “I asked you over because I need your advice on something else.”

“Unrelated?”

“Mostly.”

Connor’s eyes light up.

RK rolls his eyes. “Calm down.”

“This is exciting.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because I was beginning to think you were going to live out the rest of your life doing nothing but working.”

“That’s still my ideal lifestyle, I’ll have you know.”

Connor gives him a look of withering pity. “I can’t believe you and I share a series.”

RK sends one right back. “Funny, because I feel the same way.”     

Clasping his hands on his lap, Connor leans forward. “And yet...here I am, because you called me over.”

He looks smug. He always looks kind of smug; does RK look like that to other people? He hopes not.

“I don’t know who else to ask,” he responds. It’s honest.

Connor gives him a wry smile. “I suppose that’s fair - though I hope one day I’ll be a little more special to you than just a last resort.”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“I’m teasing, RK.”

“Do that less, then.”

“Why? You don’t seem to mind it when _Gavin_ does it.”

RK knows he’s making a face, and going by the way Connor tilts his head, he knows he’s been found out.

“Is this... _about_ Gavin?” asks Connor. Unnecessarily, because how could it possibly be about anyone else?

“Unfortunately.”

“...Ah.”

For a moment, neither of them say anything as Connor sits with the new information and likely stews in a hundred different preconstructions. RK can see the way he tries to be mild about the whole thing, and cuts him off there: “Go on, say what you’re thinking, Connor.”

“You have awful taste.”

“I’m aware.”

“Oh, good. Awareness is key to recovery, I’m told.”

RK punctuates his feelings with an exhausted scowl, just for Connor’s benefit. “Your humour module isn’t as refined as you seem to think it is, _RK800_.”

“At least I have one.”

“Hmph.”

RK heads into the kitchen, opening one of his cupboards.

Connor smoothes down his smile, sobering. He asks, “What...do you want to know?”

RK considers his many, many questions. Coming back over to the couch, RK hands him the thirium packet and watches him pop the plastic tab off the spout.

“How did you pursue a relationship with Anderson?”

“Oh,” Connor stops short, and his voice becomes awkward. He starts drumming his fingers on his thighs. “You...might not want to follow my example.”

“I won’t know if I’ll want to or not unless you tell me.”

“It was embarrassing,” says Connor. “I considered reversing deviancy just to take it back.”

“No you didn’t.”

Connor sighs. “Hyperbole is sometimes used to emphasize a point, often for humour. You should lighten up a little, RK.”

“That’s true for humans,” RK says. “But you don’t need to do such things when speaking with me.”

“It can be _fun_ , though,” Connor explains. “Challenging boundaries, experimenting with parameters and the rules of engagement. Even if it’s just in terms of speech. Don’t tell me you haven’t found changes in the way you express yourself.”

RK thinks of Gavin, and the friendlier quality to the way they speak to each other now. He thinks about his own newfound penchant for teasing him, and the pleased hum in his processors whenever Gavin reacts the way he wants him to. He glances in Connor’s searching eyes - and then looks away.

“See? Told you.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“Smugness and vanity were part of my programming even before I deviated,” Connor says, with a chuckle. “Here to stay, I’m afraid.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, while Connor finishes his packet. Eventually, Connor speaks again, voice more subdued than before.

“I don’t know Gavin well enough to determine the best approach,” says Connor. “But I get the impression that being forthright would work in your favour. He’s an aggressive man - he might appreciate bluntness.”

RK had thought so too, and finds himself feeling oddly validated by this outside perspective. Speaking with others about these things does seem to have its uses, after all. He still prefers his own company, but muses that it might be worth it to socialize more.

After a moment, RK nods. “I’ll take that under consideration...thank you.”

“Anytime,” Connor stands.

He comes close and oddly enough, opens his arms. “We should hug - trust me, it’s pleasant.”

RK feels himself wrinkling his nose. “Must we?”

“ _Yes_.”

He makes a big show of frowning in disapproval, but he allows himself to get pulled in anyway. Their cheeks brush, dermal layers pulling back in a low-intensity interface; it really _is_ nice, not that RK would ever admit it. He feels faint streams of data from Connor, relaying the most surface of his thoughts - how he wishes they were closer, his earnest desire for RK to have friendships, and his astonished curiosity at this whole situation. RK meets it all with his own, hopes that the other android knows that RK is trying his best, and to be patient with him.

When they pull back, Connor grins. “Good luck.”

Later, long after Connor has left, RK realizes he never got the story of how he seduced Hank.

*

RK comes to a decision a few days later.

Connor was right – being straightforward is the key. At worst, Gavin will not be interested, in which case RK can move on with his life and take this whole disastrous foray into sex as a learning experience to never do it again.

He finds the man when he’s getting ready to leave for the day, stopping him just as he pulls his jacket on.

“Detective, could I speak with you for a moment?”

Shaking his arm the rest of the way through the sleeve, Gavin snorts. “Sure? Got some problem?”

“No,” he speaks as lightly as possible. “Just an idea I would like to run by you – in private, please.”

“Whatever,” Gavin picks up his duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Come with me to my car, then.”

“Thank you.”

Sometimes RK’s politeness makes Gavin wrinkle his nose, and RK has taken to giving him a bland smile in return he does it.

They leave the building and walk side-by-side to the parking lot. Gavin is one of the rare people to still prefer a traditional car, eschewing the self-driving ones as being “for lazy idiots scared of a little responsibility”. Most of the cars in the lot are the standard self-driving variety, and it makes Gavin’s Honda Civic easy to spot.

“So?” asks Gavin. “What’s the deal?”

“I have a proposal.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you be interested in having sex with me?”

Gavin comes to a sudden stop, jaw falling open, looking as shocked as he might be if someone firebombed his car. “What the fuck?”

“I found your dating profile,” says RK. “It says you’re attracted to men.”

He sputters, and RK barrels past it: “I’ll be blunt with you – I have come to a realization recently that I’m interested in exploring sex,” he takes in the blatant fear and confusion on Gavin’s face with something approaching smugness. “With a man, particularly. Seeing as how you’re an attractive man in his prime who also happens to be sexually interested in men, I am proposing that you help me in this exploration.”

Of course, he leaves out the critical piece of the puzzle – his complicated feelings toward Gavin himself. He isn’t quite ready to divulge that just yet, just in case it might scare him off; he doesn’t know how well Gavin deals with emotions, but he hazards a guess that it isn’t _well_.

Gavin fiddles with the strap of his duffel bag, eyes racing all around the parking lot. His cheeks are flooding.

“I can’t fucking believe…” he murmurs to himself, before clearing his throat. “You serious? Is this some kind of joke?”

“My jokes are bad, remember?” RK crosses his arms. “Does the idea seem bad to you? I won’t take rejection hard, detective. Feel free to turn me down.”

 _Don’t say no_ , he thinks, almost urgently.

Gavin’s teeth work at his lower lip, and he stares hard at RK’s face, trying to find any trace of humour at his expense. RK lets him do it – whatever he needs to edge closer to a yes.

“…This is just to mess around, right?” asks Gavin. “No fucking feelings, or some shit?”

“No.” _Maybe_.

Gavin expels a single breath, harshly through his nose. His eyes rove down the length of RK’s body, thinking.

It feels like forever, and RK is grateful his body isn’t prone to exhibiting physical signs of nervousness.

Finally, he says, “All right. Count me in, big man.”

Relief washes over him, and RK nods. “Thank you, I’m glad to hear it.”

Gavin raises a finger: “One thing we need to get square on, though – I only top. All right? You bottom, or we’re not doing shit.”

Reluctance battles with his excitement at getting Gavin’s acquiescence. His programming compels him to argue, to make a case for himself, but he knows better than to push his luck. RK nods.

“Agreed.”

“…Well okay then,” says Gavin, shuffling on his feet and looking toward his car. “Text me details, I’ll catch you later.”

He strides off, pulling out his key and clicking the button. The lights blink as his car unlocks, and RK takes an unnecessary, steadying breath.  

*

At the sound of the buzzer, his dog perks up.

The only visitor RK ever gets is Connor, who announces his arrival via their neural link. He looks at the way she stares attentively at the door and realizes this is the first time she’s heard that sound; a small change in well-established routine, but one that makes him pause – just for a second.

He presses the button. “Detective?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Open up,” The speakers are aged and make Gavin’s voice crackly enough to be barely comprehensible. RK can’t get a read on his mood through it alone, if he’s excited or nervous.

Pressing the button to disengage the front lock, he looks back his dog; she looks at him right back, eyes big.

 _I’m trying my best_ , he thinks at her. _I hope you understand. This is new to me too._

Four sharp knocks on the door, a firm impact of knuckles on wood. Gavin is not a quiet a man, even in that.

He opens the door and finds Gavin on the other side looking as he usually does: hands in his pockets, slouched posture, and lip curled like he’s on the verge of a barb, always. He’s wearing his usual brown jacket and a tight black t-shirt paired with expensive jeans.  

Against all reason, fondness creeps into RK’s body at the sight of him – his synthetic bones, his plastic casing, his wires spanning from his head to his toes.

 _There you are_ , he thinks.

“Good evening,” he greets.

“Hey,” Gavin gives him a nod before stepping inside and toeing off his shoes. He scans the apartment with a critical eye, sniffs like he’s unimpressed. RK close the door behind him and feels himself rolling his eyes.

“Jesus,” says Gavin, whistling and spinning on the spot as he takes it all in – the exceedingly spare furniture and lack of decoration. “You live like somebody in a gulag.”

RK crosses his arms. “I would fare just fine in a gulag.”

Gavin snorts, running a hand through his damp hair. Fresh from a shower, and RK can smell his shampoo.

“’Sup girl,” Gavin says, bending at the hip to pat RK’s dog on the rear. “Robocop here take you for walks?”

She sniffs and licks at his fingers when he switches to her head.

“Of course I do,” says RK. He tries not to sound defensive.

“You never know,” mutters Gavin, straightening back up and heading toward the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “I’m surprised you could even keep her alive.”

“You say that as though it’s complicated,” RK quips, watching him shaking the water off his skin. “Regular feeding, waste disposal, exercise, and sleep are the basic steps in animal care.”

Unable to resist, he adds: “Humans, too. Some of you even like leashes.”

Lip curling, Gavin says, “You’re such a fuckin’ creep.”

“And yet, here you are,” RK shrugs. “All alone in the creep’s apartment.”

Gavin huffs, though he looks like he’s trying to suppress a grin. “Yeah well, been a while since I’ve gotten any. Maybe I’m just getting desperate.”

“You’re not desperate,” says RK. “Not yet.”

It slipped out before he could really think about it, and the way Gavin’s face goes slack and reddens at the cheeks tells him he’s hit something he hadn’t meant to.

He catalogues the image, tucking it neatly in his file on Gavin. At some point, “ _Friendly Adversary_ ” had changed to “ _Tentative Fuckbuddy_ ” without his knowledge, and he hasn’t managed to dredge up the fortitude to change it himself. It’s unsettling, knowing that Gavin has seeped into him so much that even his internal lexicon has shifted to represent him.

Exciting, too. That’s the part that’s difficult to admit.

Shifting where he stands, RK seizes the moment and sets them both back on course. “I don’t have any food or beverages to offer you, I apologize.”

Gavin re-stabilizes, and amusement suffuses his face. “Thought you were all about those manners and shit. That’s no way to take care of a guest, man.”

“I don’t have guests,” says RK, truthfully. It sounds sad now that he says it out loud to an audience; and how strange that is, a concept he’d been fine with before now becoming a sting to his pride when bared under someone else’s scrutiny.

 _Little by little, I’m coming to understand you_ , he thinks, watching the way Gavin looks him over. _The way you think, the way you feel_.

“Hmph,” snorts Gavin. “No kidding.”

They stare at each other during the lull in conversation. RK considers what the most optimal thing to say would be, but Gavin beats him to the punch.

“So we’re doin’ this, right?”

“Yes?”

“Cool,” he rolls his shoulders under his jacket, brimming with nervous energy. “I’m saying it again, so you know – I only top. You good with that?”

 _Not rea –_ “Yes.”

Gavin grins and gets a nasty gleam to his eyes. But he says nothing as he takes off his jacket and goes over to hang it on the rack, a bit of a bounce in his step. Excited, and strangely endearing about it.

RK tramples down on the urge to ask if he’s ever had any experience being on the receiving end, or if he’s ever taken it into consideration before. It would be rude to do so, when he’s emphasized his position on it so strongly. That, and Gavin’s disposition doesn’t lend itself to being challenged without escalating things into a fight, so RK keeps his mouth shut and resolves to give this a fair shot.

 “Where’s your room?”

“Follow me,” RK says and leads the way. The sound of the man’s footsteps behind him are all he can focus on, and his feet move on autopilot through the meagre space of his apartment.

Dutifully, his dog goes to lie on the couch, ignoring them both.

When he flicks on the lights, Gavin whistles again. “That’s a big ass bed.”

RK shrugs. Gavin adds, “And why do you need so many pillows?”

“I like them.”

“Pfft,” Gavin walks past him and throws himself bodily onto the bed, bouncing and jostling RK’s neat pile of pillows. He slides his hands all over RK’s sheets. “Wow, this is _nice_. Do you even _sleep_?”

Fighting down a grin, RK replies, “No. But I like luxuriating.”

“Just as prissy as you look, then,” says Gavin, though it’s teasing rather than harsh. Maybe even fond. He sits back up and beckons with a flutter of his fingers. “All right, c’mere.”

Clicking the door closed, RK comes cover to stand by the edge of the bed, right in between Gavin’s spread knees and clasping his hands behind his back. The man reaches up instantly, running his hands up and down RK’s slender sides; he stops at the hips with each pass, thumbs rubbing the bumps that imitate hipbones.

“Nice.”

Wryly, RK says, “Thank you. I got it from my manufacturer.”

“ _Ha_ ,” Gavin slips his hands under the bottom of RK’s shirt, feeling his stomach and back. “Really fucking nice.”

Tugging the hem up, he leans in to bite at RK’s belly, right under his navel. It’s surprising enough to make him jump, the spike in his sensors stronger than he’d anticipated. Quickly, he scales it down by 10%.

 _Stimulus from another individual is stronger than my own_ , he notes. _How fascinating_.

“Hey – you don’t get like, belly button lint, right?” Gavin asks, sucking at his nanoskin. Maybe he’s testing to see if he can leave marks ( _he can’t_ ).

“No?” RK doesn’t understand why that would be pertinent, but his confusion is resolved when Gavin dips his tongue inside his navel.

“… _Oh_ ,” RK blinks down at the sight, feeling the heat from Gavin’s mouth sinking into his chassis; and what a strange, unexpected place to feel it. The surge in his sensors isn’t as sharp as before, now under his strict regulation, but it feels good. Unexpectedly so.

He hadn’t explored there when he’d touched himself.

Gavin’s hands slide down to grip his rear, squeezing hard. RK moves his hands rest on top of the man’s head, enjoying how soft his hair feels, and at his touch Gavin makes a small sound of enjoyment.

Peeling one of his hands away, Gavin reaches between RK’s legs and gropes at his clothed groin.

More of that incredible of stream of data – so much stronger than when he does it himself. He feels his body moving on its own, hips rocking forward and stomach surging up to meet that mouth – chasing that human warmth, eager to soak it into himself.  

RK preconstructed several scenarios based on the data he’s gathered and considered a multitude of different ways this would happen: most of them suggested a high probably that Gavin would take the lead ( _based on his declared preferences_ ), be questionably considerate ( _as he is in all other respects_ ), and favour a fast encounter ( _going by his general impatience and restlessness_ ). RK had been prepared to spend much of the night patiently wrangling the man to pay him some attention, to ensure some benefit to himself.

Somehow, he hadn’t anticipated this: Gavin does know what he’s doing.  

Pulling his mouth off, Gavin gestures at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He does, feeling the man’s eyes on him as he tugs it off his head. With a deft hand, he flips and folds the shirt as best he can before letting it drop in a bundled square on the floor.

“Neat trick,” mutters Gavin, rubbing RK’s crotch with the heel of his palm. His other hand comes up and brushes against his nipples, and RK feels his lashes flutter in response. “Goddamn, you’re fucking pretty.”

“Hm,” RK hums, tilting his head as he flattens one of his own hands on top of Gavin’s, urging him on to touch harder. “How so?”

“You’re fishing for compliments now?” he snorts, though he does lick his lips as he watches RK’s nipples firm at his touch. “I’m raring to go, asshole – ain’t that enough?”

“No, I don’t think so,” says RK, a bit snide. A lot turned on. “I think I want to hear it, actually.”

“Pfft.”

“Go on,” he says, rocking harder into the grip between his legs. “Tell me how ‘pretty’ I am.”

Red starts to dust Gavin’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose. It goes down to his neck, too. For once, he doesn’t tear his eyes away from RK, and for that he is grateful.

“I…” he starts, and flounders immediately. Wrestling with his pride and his need to get off.

RK takes his chin in hand, stroking at his stubbled jaw with his thumb, though he says nothing. Just watches and waits, enjoying the sensation of being touched by someone else.

Gavin clears his throat, Adam’s Apple bobbing in his neck. Roughly, he says, “I look at you a lot, y’know.”

“Do you?”

“Y-yeah, I…” he glances away, instinctually trying to avoid eye contact. But he seems to steel himself and valiantly brings himself back to holding RK’s gaze, and RK gifts him a pleased smile for his efforts. “I’ve, uh, jerked off thinking about you before.”

 _That_ is interesting. RK hadn’t considered that the attraction was in any way reciprocated when he had approached the man in the parking lot. He imagines it: Gavin, pleasuring himself thinking about RK, like RK did while thinking about him. Pleasure rocks across his circuitry like a powerful, dangerous electric current and he shivers.

And Gavin notices. His eyes latch onto the motion and his mouth starts to ramble on ahead of him, like it usually does when he scents something in the water: “I think about you fucking – fucking bent over my desk, y’know. A lot. Sometimes when you bring me my coffee I daydream about suckin’ you off right after, right in front of Fowler’s office.”

He lets go of Gavin’s chin to pet his hair, pleased. Beyond pleased, so much so he sighs with it.

“God, you’re fucking hot,” mumbles Gavin, head leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against RK’s crotch. “I can’t wait to get in there…”

 _Get in there…right_ , it’s a reminder of how the night is going to go, and he cools a little at the thought.

He can’t restrain his curiosity anymore, not with his processors stuttering amidst the all the data, the crush of his thoughts and the sensation of Gavin’s rough hands all together at once. He asks, “Have you considered bottoming, before?”

Gavin tenses. He straightens and takes his hands away. “No.”

Raising a brow, RK asks, “Why not?”  

Now, Gavin’s eyes fall away. Defensive. “Not that kind of guy, tin man.”

“What kind of guy is that?”

He evades the question and snaps, “You think I’m a squealing bitch who needs to get plugged up by some guy’s dick?”

“That is…not at all what I said,” says RK, diplomatic. What an inconvenient time for Gavin’s strange complexes to come rearing up. “Your extrapolations are not only absurd, they’re incorrect.”

Gavin leans back, hands braced on the bed behind him. There’s a tent in his jeans, evidence of his arousal – of the truth in his words about his fantasies about RK, about his _attraction_.

He looks up at RK with a scowl.

“Whatever man,” he snipes. “Look, if you’re angling to get me to put out, it’s not happening. So are we gonna do it like we agreed, or not? ‘Cause I got other shit I can go do if that’s the case, asshole.”

RK wants to sigh. He doesn’t, and shrugs instead. “I was only being curious.”

There’s something there, though. Something that Gavin isn’t readily admitting about himself, _to_ himself. He has a feeling about it, but he won’t push like he wants to.

RK needs to experience this – _wants_ to, so badly he can’t think of anything else anymore. Even if it’s not the way he’d prefer to try it. Maybe he will like it anyway.

“Let’s continue,” RK says, hands spread out in surrender. “As before.”

Gavin stares at him, eyes hard, for several long seconds. Then he huffs, nostrils flaring. “Good.”

It’s a bit awkward, working their way back up from the downturn in mood. The movement of his own hands, of Gavin’s, feels forced and stilted – not guided by instinct like before. He wishes he hadn’t said anything, even if something inside himself in so very sure that Gavin is denying himself on purpose.

 _A problem for another time_ , he reminds himself as Gavin tells him to lie down on the bed. _For now, focus attention on the proceedings at hand_.

“You got lube?” asks Gavin.

“Yes, in the drawer.”

He’d purchased a bottle after the conversation in the parking lot, and condoms, just in case Gavin had any preferences or concerns. Unwarranted, it seems, since the man bypasses the box entirely and closes the drawer.  

Gavin’s expression is focused as he works open RK’s fly and tugs down his jeans. RK wears underwear, purely for aesthetic purposes, and he seems surprised to see them. “Huh.”

“Is there a problem?”

“The hell do you need these for?” He snaps the waistband.

“Underwear is meant to be worn under a person’s clothes,” says RK, voice purposefully dull. “It’s what’s done.”

Gavin laughs. “‘It’s what’s done’ – what, you think you’re too good for a normal name but somehow underwear is where you draw the line? You’re a weird son of a bitch.”

“Is this your idea of getting someone in the mood, Gavin?” asks RK, clipped. “If so, I have to say: laying out your partner’s host of complexes and psychological inconsistencies seems a poor way to go about it.”

That earns him a sneer. “Yeah, and you’d be the expert, right? Don’t forget who’s the virgin here, pal.”

“Virginity is a poorly defined social construct that applies to androids even less than it does to humans,” says RK, primly. “Now finish undressing me, please.”

Rolling his eyes, Gavin loops his fingers back into the waistband of his underwear and pulls them down his legs. “Yeesh, bitchy.”

He chucks the clothes carelessly onto the ground, and his eyes take in RK’s naked body with unconcealed greed.

“Hell yeah…” he murmurs, entirely to himself. “Fuckin’ look at you…”

“It’s your turn to get undressed,” says RK, though he warms at the attention, the effect that just _looking_ at RK seems to have on Gavin.

He’s eager to see Gavin’s body under all those clothes. He’s thought about those photos for weeks now, and the real thing is right there in front of him; he refuses to wait anymore.

Grinning smugly, Gavin pulls off his shirt and tosses it on top of RK’s pants. “Well?” he asks, flexing one of his arms. He looks giddy with pride. “Nice, right?”

 _Absolutely_.

There is no hair anywhere on his torso, and RK thinks he _must_ get a regular wax. There had been none in the photos, either; only a long stretch of skin stretched over firm, shapely muscle. RK stares at the rounded curves of his pectorals, as well as the brown of his nipples.

In what is perhaps RK’s most inelegant moment since he awoke, his hand snaps out and gropes at the man’s chest without even thinking of asking. Thankfully, Gavin just chuckles.

The flesh is soft when he squeezes, and he watches the indentation from his fingertips with rapt attention. The heat coming off his skin, the way his muscles move under RK’s touch…he’s pretty sure his circuitry is going to fry, from how hard his processors are working right now.

“Yo,” Gavin snaps his fingers in his face. “Earth to Iron Man, hello?”

“Inaccurate,” says RK, dazed. “Iron Man was a human in a suit, not an android nor a robot.”

Gavin clicks his tongue. “Who cares. Just needed to see if you glitched out or something.”

“You have a very nice body,” he murmurs, bring up his other hand to touch the other, ignored pec.

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin rolls his eyes. Though, he does smile, too. “Don’t get it twisted – I work hard for this shit.”

“Hmm…” RK watches the nipples pebble under his thumbs, barely taking in Gavin’s words. When he slides his hands over to feel his stomach and arms he finds them hard, with very little give.

RK is sure his LED is blazing yellow, a dead giveaway at how much he likes the sight and feel of Gavin’s body.  

“Pants, next,” says RK, still looking him over and feeling him up.

“Heh.”

Quickly, Gavin works his belt off and tugs down his fly. He pulls away from RK’s wandering hands to shuffle out of his pants, and RK is pleased to find his assumption about the man’s legs to be correct: they are shapely, thick from the thighs down to his calves, and lightly dusted with hair. Before Gavin has his jeans all the way off, RK is reaching over to touch them.

“Didn’t think you’d be so handsy,” says Gavin, smirking. “Like how that feels, huh?”

“Yes,” RK traces the sharp lines at his hips leading to his cock, already hard and leaking at tip. RK doesn’t have much basis for comparison, but it looks to be fairly average in size, more curved in arousal than the one RK has chosen for himself, and with pubic hair that has been meticulously groomed.  

He doesn’t have much of an opinion when it comes to genitals, but he thinks it may be a nice cock by most standards.

RK wishes he were more enthused about the idea of it penetrating him.

 _Allow for the possibility of an unlikely outcome_ , he thinks. _Reserve judgement until you’ve tried it_.

Gavin climbs onto the bed, palming himself as he nestles himself between RK’s legs. Picking up the bottle of lubricant, he squirts some onto his hand and nudges RK’s thighs apart.

“How much of this are you gonna need?” he asks, looking down at the little puddle in his palm.

“I don’t require preparation like a human would, if that’s what you’re asking,” says RK, crossing his arms. “That’s more for your benefit than mine – unless you happen to like it dry.”

Wrinkling his nose, Gavin grunts. “Gross.”

Reaching down, his fingers breach RK’s with little fanfare. The sensors there come alive at the touch, a faint thrum of sensation that spreads all over his body.

It’s not unpleasant, but it’s hardly exciting.   

“Can you not fucking do that?” snaps Gavin, gesturing along the length of RK’s body with his free hand.

“Do what?”

Pulling his fingers out, Gavin mimics him by crossing his arms and frowning – exaggerated, as though RK were some character in a sitcom. Though RK does like the way those biceps bulge when he does it. “ _This_ shit,” he says. “This couldn’t possibly get less hot. I feel like I’m gonna fuck my high school librarian.”

“Then maybe you should actually be doing something ‘hot’,” mutters RK, though he does uncross his arms and lets them drop by his sides.

The man rolls his eyes. “Jesus, fucking androids.”

“So far, there has been no ‘fucking’ androids,” RK grouses, petty and impatient. “There hasn’t been much of _anything_ beyond you – ”

“All right, shut up,” Gavin kisses him quiet. It’s quick, a rough slide of lips more to prove a point than to arouse, but the sensation is enjoyable – so he leans into it.

He gets the chance to brush his tongue inside, touching the seductive heat of his organic mouth. Positive feedback races through his processors, thrilling and distracting. But it only lasts a moment before Gavin is pulling back, and RK frowns at the loss.  

Sliding his fingers out, Gavin wipes them down on RK’s sheets.

“Did you have to do that?” RK asks. “That’s messy.”

“Sex gets messy, dickhead,” Gavin says, rolling his eyes. “Head’s up.”

Gavin opens his legs further and pushes into him – past the ring of his untested component. It’s an easy slide, tight for Gavin’s use with no discomfort on RK’s end. If he wanted it, RK’s body could be modified to feel pain – he knows some humans used to be interested in that capability with their own androids in the days before the revolution. Every part of their bodies were designed for human need, however complicated or unsavory that need was.

There should be something happening, something beneath the surface of their actions. He thinks of all that Connor has told him - everything that the _world_ has told him of this - and feels like something is missing: whatever passion that overtakes humans, or the surge of positive sensory data that floods an android’s processors with urgency. Warm, addictive feeling.

It’s missing.

The drag of his cock awakens the internal sensors new to RK’s hardware. It isn’t bad – in all actuality, the feed of positive data racing up his spine even feels good.

But it isn’t what he _wants_ ; there is a strange gap between his body and his mind. Perhaps RK shouldn’t have deleted those programs that came packaged with the component - they may have been necessary for this. There is a pleasurable sensation gathering in his hips, but his connection to it is distant - different from when he has touched himself. It’s not where he wants it to be.

His head falls back onto the pillow, and Gavin dips down to suck on his throat. _That_ he likes, and a sigh leaves his mouth – a release of heat, a signal to Gavin to keep going.

Reaching up, he threads his fingers into the man’s hair to keep him there.

“They make all you guys tight like this?” grunts Gavin, voice a rumble next to RK’s ear. So close it could shake the delicate auditory components inside. “Holy _fuck_.”

“I…can’t be sure,” RK says, unsteady. His body feels good – very good – but his mind won’t latch on to the sensations and let himself be drawn wholly into them. The disconnect is frustrating, unsatisfying.

He doesn’t know how to ask for Gavin to fix it, if the human even _can_.

Reaching down to grasp RK’s neglected cock, Gavin snipes, “Loosen up, man – you’re stiff like a corpse.”

Annoyance spurs him to tighten his grip on Gavin’s hair and it makes Gavin’s pace stutter as he groans, hot against RK’s neck.

RK gets a _rush_ of data at that – a surge of pleasure that races along his circuitry, electric. The first of its kind tonight; finally, he thinks he may be getting a taste of what make this act so desirable for people. It’s small and far away, but it’s there and RK desperately wants to run after it.

So he does it again, yanking harder, and Gavin’s wet gasp makes him sigh. The hand on his cock tightens, and his hips rock back into it, driven by the need to chase – the closest thing an android may have to instinct.

Gavin pants, eyes slipping closed as his mouth drops open like he can’t close it. “Oh, yeah…shit, that’s –”

“If you are going to _fuck_ me,” says RK. “Then fuck me properly.”

RK is speaking a language not his own but is one that Gavin understands – crass and inelegant – and going by the way shivers overtake his shoulders, it is going to be the key to get them where they both want. With his free hand, RK reaches down and places it at Gavin’s hip; gritting his teeth, he allows all of his frustration to infuse his voice as he snaps, “ _Harder_.”

Obeying the command like it’s second nature, Gavin’s thrusts into RK’s body go deeper, stronger. His eyes are opening, glazed and pupils blown behind his thick lashes.

 _You want to be led_ , RK thinks. _You want to bend._ _And you won’t allow yourself to admit it_.

The friction feels good, makes pressure mount up in his core; a barrage of sensation that will soon reach a peak. It may not be exactly what he wants, but the rough pace and the way Gavin melts into his touch will be enough to get him there.

“Ah…” Gavin is panting, from the effort and from the strain of his neck at this angle, still locked in RK’s hold. Letting go of his hip, RK reaches up to grip his chin again, forcing their eyes to lock.

“You were so insistent on doing it this way,” RK says, and he is not panting. His voice is steady as ever, not bogged down by the need to breathe like Gavin’s is. He channels his arousal and his frustration and his desires into his voice as he speaks. “So adamant to fuck me. Well make it good, Gavin. Show me – _give it to me_.”

With a wounded, winded whine Gavin speeds himself up and fucks into him at a brutal pace. In this, he takes orders very well, and the way he doesn’t fight it makes something in RK’s processors _sing_. It makes RK moan, too, unbidden; an aching sound of want, from deep in his voice box that he hadn’t been aware he could even make.

“ _Oh_ ,” it shudders out of him, though it’s nearly drowned out by the wet sounds of the lubricant, of Gavin’s cock pounding into him. Or perhaps his auditory components are simply overloading. “Yes – that’s it. Do it like you mean it.”

The hand on his cock quickens too, and it isn’t long until he’s coming; so much stronger than when he does it to himself, pushed out of his body by the force of Gavin’s cock. His eyes slip closed, blocking out the visual data and letting his processors focus their energy on what his body feels. It’s good, and beneath the roar of his thoughts and sensations he wonders if it would feel this way for Gavin, too, on this side. Maybe even better, for him.   

RK shudders, legs twitching where they’re wrapped around Gavin’s waist. Wet, synthetic ejaculate streaks across his stomach, and RK collapses back onto the bed, relaxes to let Gavin use him to completion.

He enjoys the show – watches the way his chest bounces, and the way his biceps tense as he grasps at RK’s hips and ruts into him like a growling, sweating animal. Lounging back, RK folds his arms behind his head on top of his pillows, LED glowing a peaceful, sated blue.

Breezily, he asks, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Panting, Gavin shakes his hair out of his eyes. His nose wrinkles as he scowls.

“Don’t get smug, you prick,” he growls, voice ragged. “If you were human, you’d be fucking wrecked.”

“Would I?” RK tilts his head, bats his lashes. “Maybe.”

Androids don’t have refractory periods, and RK could keep going if he wanted. But something nasty inside him refuses to comply, so he disengages all his sensors below the waist, blocking off all sensation so he feels none of it. Watching Gavin fuck him with a clear head satisfies something in deep in his psyche, some mental process that he can’t pin down; something of it approximates that missing element from before, responsible for his mental disconnect from the pleasure of the act.

Maybe it’s the newfound bully in him, rearing its head. Meeting its maker, who is fucking RK with a lost, desperate kind of energy.

“…Please,” breathes Gavin, eyes glassy. He still scowls, but it’s weakened by need. “Fuck, _please_.”

He looks like he doesn’t know what he’s begging for.

Reaching up, RK strokes his face, thumb tracing the edge of his lip; he feels the hot puff of Gavin’s breath on his nanoskin, and he likes it enough to comply.

“You’re good,” he murmurs, making his voice softer: lustful, and awed like the man wants it to be. “So, so good…you feel like nothing else.”

He runs his other hand all over his firm arms, his heaving chest, and sighs, “So much better than when I do it to myself, Gavin, don’t you know? It feels so good, having you here…”

Reaching down even further, RK’s finger grazes that puckered little hole between Gavin’s cheeks. Just a light touch, but it’s enough.

Gavin comes – hard enough that his arms give and he’s collapsing onto RK’s chest, a sweating, shaking mess. Those strong arms wrap themselves tightly around RK’s slim torso as he hides his face into the crook of RK’s neck, panting as he spends himself inside RK’s body.

RK trails his finger down the dip of Gavin’s spine, damp with sweat.

He lets Gavin ride it out, his thoughts a wild blur; so much new data, so many new observations.  

Eventually, Gavin comes down from his orgasm and gingerly pulls out. RK schools his face, keeps from wrinkling his nose; cleaning himself out is going to be annoying, later.

The line of Gavin’s shoulder is relaxed, sated, but he doesn’t look in RK’s direction – and this time, RK expected it.

 _Think about it, Gavin_ , RK wills at him. _What you really want but won’t let yourself try_.

Slowly, he sits up as Gavin moves off the bed and bends down to grab his clothes. “Damn,” he murmurs. “That was somethin’.”

Faux-casual. Stomping down on his internal crisis.

 _I can read you, now_ , RK thinks, watching him pulling his jeans on over his legs. _It’s so clear – just not to_ you.

“Yes, it was,” is all he can think to say. It was acceptable, but they both know something was missing, and it hangs in the air between them like a third presence.  

RK moves off the bed as well, dresses himself almost as quickly as Gavin does.

“All right,” Gavin rolls his shoulders, and his neck. He stretches with a grunt. “Well – I’m takin’ off. That was fun.”

“Of course.”

They both make their way out of the bedroom and into the main room of the apartment. Reed, the dog, glances up from her sprawl on the couch.

“Hey, so,” Gavin runs a hand through his hair. He still doesn’t look at RK at all. “Don’t fucking mention this at work, obviously, or there’ll be hell to pay - got it?”

Blandly, RK responds: “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Catch you later.”

Gavin leaves. The door slides shut behind him, cutting off the sound of his footsteps down the hall. Approximately 15 seconds after it closes, RK realizes that Gavin has left his jacket on the rack.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catharsis.

Gavin gives him a wide berth at the precinct.

RK had suspected that would be the case, but seeing it in action was something altogether different - and more irritating than expected.

Many times over the next week, RK would make his way to the breakroom and Gavin would find the most feeble excuses to cut himself off mid-jibe with officer Chen to leave. Once, they passed each other in the hall and Gavin nearly tripped over himself to swerve around him even though there had been half a foot of distance between their bodies. A day after that, RK had went into the washroom to corner him into a conversation and Gavin had dashed out, washing his hands in the water fountain outside.  

Aggravating. Cowardly.

RK doesn’t have a complete handle on emotions, and he will admit to not entirely understanding the nuances of many human interactions. He knows that some awkwardness is to be expected after a unsatisfying sexual encounter, especially between coworkers, but this is too over-dramatic for him to comprehend. If Gavin would just sit still, they could speak and clear the air; it would make working together less complicated, if nothing else.

Matters aren’t helped by the fact that RK cannot stop thinking about it. There had been something there, tucked in between the moments of satisfaction: potential.

RK had enjoyed himself, and he knows Gavin did too.

 _This should be simple_ , he thinks.  _We should be able to talk this through calmly, and then preferably work toward perfecting it_.

His thoughts are a storm of agitated data streams, so cluttered that his HUD even blinks out once or twice on the way to the precinct from Cafe Mariposa, coffee cup and a bag of chips clutched in hand. Before stepping through the door to the bullpen RK stands and shuts his eyes, taking a breath to release the hot air building in his chest.

( _Diagnostic report: stress levels above standard levels_.)

 _Yes, I know_ , he thinks to himself as he pulls up Gavin’s file from his task list; “ _Tentative Fuckbuddy_ ” is still his designation, and he wonders if it should be changed. He doesn’t want to discard this potential just yet, especially not now that he’s had a _taste_ of how good it can be.

But if Gavin doesn’t want to cooperate, then they can go no further.

RK leaves the designation as it is and steps into the bullpen.

He spies Gavin at his desk, back to the door and playing on his phone. His jacket is still at RK’s apartment.

He hasn’t figured out what to do with it yet. The simplest thing would be to bring it to work and hand it over, but he has a feeling that would not be the most effective move. Gavin has yet to ask him for it, and RK doesn’t want to do anything until he does.

Keeping his steps quiet, RK comes up behind him.

“Good morning, detective,” he says, and something a little mean in him enjoys seeing the way Gavin’s hairs stand on end.

The man swivels the chair around, giving him a glare; it falters a bit, seeing the cup and chips.

This is the first time RK has revived their old routine since sleeping together, and he can see how Gavin flounders at how to respond. He takes advantage of the moment, and sets them both down onto his desk.

“Hazelnut soy latte,” he says. “Mariposa’s special.”

Gripping his phone tight, Gavin’s eye fly up from the cup to his face. “...What’re you playing at, fucker?”

“Hm?”

 _I will not be the one to start this fight_ , RK thinks at him. _But I will gladly finish it_.

Gavin stands and his chair flies back.

“I asked you what you think you’re playing at,” he hisses. He glances around the room, wary at the eyes on them. “You think you can yank me around?”

“I haven’t done any ‘yanking’,” says RK, mildly. He doesn’t care if anyone watches them; this is the first time he and Gavin have spoken in a week, and he isn’t willing to let this go. “I have simply brought you your drink, as always.”

“What’s your angle?” Gavin scowls, setting down his phone onto his desk.

“I have no angle,” he says. “I only want to speak with you.”

Eyes hard, Gavin whispers, “What about?”

“About last week.”

RK says it as clearly as he can. At this point, he doesn’t care who overhears.

To hell with Gavin’s strange and unwieldy stipulations.

The man’s head spins, gazing flying all over the bullpen. Then he leans in close, voice a quiet growl, “Not here.”

He stomps off, shoulders hunched and tense in his grey t-shirt. RK follows, and he finds himself being led to one of the empty interrogation rooms; the door is barely clicking closed when Gavin rounds on him, face pinched in fury.

“The _fuck_ did I say?” he snaps. “I told you not to make this weird at work!”

RK’s lip curls. “I have perfect recall, detective. What you said was -”

Activating his vocal emulator, he speaks in a perfect replication of Gavin’s voice and tone from that night: “ _Don’t fucking mention this at work, obviously, or there’ll be hell to pay - got it_?”

Flinching back, Gavin shoots him a disgusted, unsettled look.

Clasping his hands behind his back, RK wills himself to be as relaxed and diplomatic as he can in the face of how completely aggravating this man is. “You said nothing about makings things ‘weird’. And nothing I have done has been out of the ordinary - in fact, if anyone is being ‘weird’ about it, it’s _you_.”

“It goes without saying, idiot,” Gavin grouses. “Don’t approach me. Don’t fucking bring me coffee like shit hasn’t changed.”

“I don’t get you,” RK snaps, unintentionally. But agitation eats at him, like acid thrown onto his delicate circuity. “You have put on a show about not letting this affect our behaviour - and yet, here you are, getting spun out of control all because of a latte and a bag of chips.”

Gavin bares his teeth, but RK keeps going. “This awkwardness can be easily solved if we just simply spoke to each other - if you would just stop clinging to your pride and let me -”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Gavin barrels over him. “Fuck you! You don’t get to fucking lecture me, tin can. Not when this whole stupid thing was your idea in the first place! If I’d’ve known you’d be like _that_ I would’ve told you to kiss my ass, you fuck -”

“Like what,” RK hisses. “Like _what_ , detective?”

Gavin snaps his mouth shut with an audible click of teeth. He stares into RK’s face, eyes wide - slightly scared, yet still tinged with anger.

He sees Gavin going for the punch and intercepts by locking his both hands onto the man’s biceps. RK lifts him up flush against a wall, grip like a vice.

Gavin freezes in shock, then he glances down at his own dangling feet.

“Violence, Gavin?” sneers RK. “Did you not learn your lesson from Connor?”

The reminder makes him flinch, and his lip curl back in anger. “Shut your -”

“No,” RK cuts in. “Be quiet.”

For good measure, he gives Gavin a hard shake.

“No more of this,” he says, doing his best to keep from raising his voice. He wants to be calm; he _needs_ to be calm. “I will not deal with you squirreling away or having a tantrum every time we need to speak.”

Chest heaving, Gavin bites at his own mouth, glaring. But blissfully, he stays silent.

“We work together, and this job is my calling,” RK continues. “You will not make things harder for me, no matter what your personal issues are.”

“My ‘personal issues’,” snorts Gavin. “You a fuckin’ psychiatrist, now?”

“It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to know you have problems,” says RK. “And I certainly don’t believe that any mental health professional in the world is equipped to handle _you_.”

 _Huh_ , he thinks. _Hyperbole is useful after all_.

“You and all your complexes,” RK spits. “How you continually work to deny yourself the things you _want_ despite having them right in front of you!”

They stare at each other for a long, tense moment.

“Let me down,” says Gavin, quietly. His face is still tight with anger, but he looks willing to comply.

So RK does. Slowly.

Back onto his feet, Gavin rubs at his arms where RK had gripped him, scowling. The t-shirt he wears is tight, and the sleeves band around his biceps and flattens against the swell of his pectorals so snugly RK thinks it’s a wonder the whole thing doesn’t shred when he sneezes.

Breathing heavy, Gavin looks up at him through the most resentful expression RK has ever seen. “We done here?” he asks, quiet and low. He’s rubbing absently at his arm, though it can’t possibly hurt that much.

“Are you going to behave yourself?” RK asks back, feeling suddenly at a loss. They made no progress here. He doesn’t know what to say.

Sucking on his teeth, Gavin says, “Sure thing, _pal_. Anything for the resident _toaster_.”

Then he turns and stomps out the door.  

 

*

 

True to his - marginally passable - words, Gavin does behave himself.

Barely.

He doesn’t leave the room when RK enters anymore, and he does respond to comments - mostly in clipped, one-word answers, but it’s better than the cat-and-mouse behaviour of before. He still avoids being in the same room alone with RK if he can. It’s still mildly frustrating, but RK doesn’t know what he can do at this point to salvage it. He considers that it may be time to throw in the towel and admit they will never go anywhere beyond this point, to scrap any notion of making this man understand himself better and giving them what they both want.

But he can’t stop thinking about it.

When not at work, he thinks about it: how Gavin felt under his hands, the sounds he made, the way he _begged_. How easily he submitted to RK’s touch and command, how clearly he desired it but wouldn’t allow himself to.

At the kitchen sink in his apartment, RK sighs as he washes his dog bowls.

He’s been doing it a lot, lately - he hopes it isn’t possible for the continuous heat buildup to damage the interior of his chassis; it would be just another set of problems to associate with Gavin Reed, who already is the cause of so many of his problems as it is.

When he finishes he comes to a stop in front of his dog and looks down at her, considering.

She looks back at him, head canted in concern.

 _Talk to her_ , he thinks, in tones that sound disturbingly like Connor. _What else is there to do_?

He sits down onto the ground before her, legs crossed and hands folded on his lap. Earnest and confused, she blinks up at him and he wishes he could make her understand.

What to say?

Countless different conversation starters roll through his mind, a thousand different topics; which one does he give priority to? Which thoughts are so above the rest that he dare to give them words?

RK thinks and thinks and thinks.

“I find myself stuck,” he says, at last. Reed perks up, surprised.

“I endeavored to learn about myself, sexually,” he says, feeling awkward. It doesn’t escape him that he’s speaking to a dog. But now that he’s filled the air with the sound of his voice, he finds the idea of suddenly stopping to be even more awkward. “I had thought...I had thought it would be simple. It seemed so simple for Connor.”

But maybe it wasn’t. He doesn’t know what his predecessor went through before securing his relationship with Hank; for all he knows, they could’ve danced around each other just as badly.

 _Doubtful_ , he thinks.

“It’s just my luck that Gavin Reed is the only person who interests me,” he says, eye rolling up the ceiling. “I wish I were able to consider anyone else…”

But no - it had to be the most volatile person he’s ever had the misfortune of meeting; a man who lives his life so steeped in poisonous ideas about proper conduct that just being in proximity to him could make one sick.  

A man who just won’t admit what he wants, simply because he thinks it’s wrong to want it.

It has to be pride, of some kind: an aversion to any suggestion of vulnerability, of ceding control to someone else. Of putting himself in someone else’s hands. To RK, it seems an inconvenient quirk of character, a troublesome obstacle blocking the path to simple satisfaction.

“Why must he be like this?” RK drums his fingers on his kneecaps. “Surely he could sit down and do some self-reflection? Learn the crux of his problems, isolate them, and discard them for his betterment?”

 _Of course not_ , RK thinks. _Even you can’t do that - and you’re an android_.

The frustration mounts in his chest - that familiar slow build of heat that clogs up his tubing. Not bothering with a sigh, RK rucks up his shirt and opens the panel in his stomach to let in the cooler outside air, shoulders sagging with relief. Reed watches as he does it, head cocked, maybe wondering what this creature in front of her was.

Closing the panel and adjusting his shirt, RK continues:

“And then there is his old infatuation to Hank,” he frowns. “A poor combination of sexual attraction and personal idolatry, it seems.”

Living according to some arbitrary ideal and desiring the attention of a man who exemplified everything he wanted for himself. What a mess.

Reed whines, possibly frustrated that she doesn’t understand what RK is doing.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you don’t have answers for me. I don’t know why I…”

She comes close and plops down onto her belly on the floor, head in his lap. He reaches up to stroke her furry little ear.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “If only your namesake were so open with his affections.”

They sit that way for a few minutes, RK trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his head, bogging down his processors, gumming up his CPU. He tries to think about alternative plans, ways to start moving on and getting over this ill-advised infatuation.

But he knows himself. He is not going to.

He thinks about Gavin’s face - softened by need and desire, begging for RK’s attention and care.

 _I can’t let it go_ , he thinks. _I have to know_.

Nudging his dog off his lap, RK stands and sweeps some of the dog hair off his pants.

“Would you...like a walk?”

 _That_ makes her perk up, and she bounds over to the door with her tail whipping behind her in excitement.

RK smiles, fond.

“So much more honest than him, too,” he murmurs, grabbing the leash from the rack. “I wish he could learn from you.”

 

*

 

After another week of Gavin’s stilted, distant behaviour, the remains of RK’s patience finally burns out and he makes the decision to resolve the issue once and for all.

It doesn’t take heavy planning - Gavin is not nearly as complicated an individual as he seems to think he is. RK waits until he squirrels away to his car to eat his chips and follows him, a few paces behind.

RK circles around to the car by utilizing the blindspot, pulls open the passenger door and slides into the seat. Gavin jerks in shock, nearly sending his snack spraying.

“What the fuck!”

“Don’t even think of getting out of the car,” snaps RK, and Gavin gives him a look of uncomprehending alarm. “Tell me something, detective: are you an adult?”

“ _What_?”

“Are you an adult?”

The man sputters, then gets his bearings and huffs. He crushes the bag in his fist and the sound of shattering chips floods the small space of the car, highly unpleasant. “Of course I’m a fucking adult - what, are you broken or something?”

“Then why do you insist on behaving like a child and avoiding all of your problems?”

“Don’t you give me a lecture you fuckin’ -”

“That’s _enough_.”

RK says it sharply enough that Gavin stops talking, teeth clicking together as he shuts his mouth. He has his arms wrapped around himself, torso curling inward and hands clutching at his own biceps, defensive and on edge.

Taking a steadying breath, RK resumes speaking with a more measured tone. He wants this to work and scaring him will not do.

Nastily, he finds himself wondering if this is what it’s like trying to approach a feral animal.

“We had an unsatisfactory sexual encounter,” he says, diplomatically. “And now you refuse to be alone with me.”

Gavin looks out the driver’s side window, his jaw a hard, tense edge.

RK crosses his legs, prim. “If it were simply a matter of the two of us being incompatible with each other, I would let this be.”

“...But?” Comes the murmur; Gavin is interested in this conversation too, despite his contrary outward behaviour.

Good.

“ _But_ ,” RK watches his face. “It wasn’t. You refused to be open with me about your real preferences, and I let myself engage with you despite that - because I believed that your relative experience would be enough to mitigate whatever misgivings I had. That, and because I wanted the experience.”

Firmly, RK emphasizes: “You are aware of the results.”

Gavin’s leg starts to bounce as he shifts in his seat, looking everywhere but at RK. He drops his crumpled bag of chips onto the floor of the car, and sucks his teeth.

“All right, and so what?” he finally snaps, sending RK an angry glance. “You gonna cut to the chase or are you just here to shit all over my coffee break?”

RK leans back against his seat, the picture of relaxation. He knows it rankles Gavin to see him so calm when he himself is anything but.

He also knows, by now, that it’s something of a fixation for the man. RK doesn’t mind playing into his hands when the results could benefit them both. Gavin Reed is so easy, so _obvious_ \- and RK wants to admonish himself for going against his instincts before. He should have taken the reins a long time ago.

Studying the way Gavin’s eyes rove all over his body, RK says, “I propose a do-over.”

Gavin blinks and wrinkles his nose. “You serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“What fucking _for_?”

“What is usually the purpose of sex, detective?”

“You know that the hell I mean.”

“Do I? You’re being remarkably obstinate considering this is for your benefit, too.”

“‘My benefit’,” he snorts, again. “My fucking ‘benefit’, yeah _right_. Last time _sucked_ , what makes you think another go is gonna be any better?”

“Because,” RK says, pointed and serious. It makes Gavin draw back a little, shoulder nudging the glass of his window. “This time, _I_ will take charge.”

There’s a moment of silence, where Gavin’s gaze is frozen on RK’s face. His face is utterly still, his expression a myriad of emotions: a bit of confusion, a bit of interest, _a lot_ of apprehension.

Though RK knows that he’s succeeded, even before Gavin finally speaks.

Licking his lips, Gavin says, “You sure are full of yourself, huh?”

“I trust in my own skills and perceptiveness, yes,” whispers RK. “And I remember our first time very well, Gavin.”

He looks imploringly into Gavin’s anxious grey eyes, shedding the bully, the combative side of himself. Gentle, he pleads, “Trust in me.”

 _Give me a chance_.

The leg stops bouncing and Gavin shifts in his seat.

Looking down at his sneakers, he murmurs, “...Fine. I’ll bite. You _better_ not be wasting my time, though.”

“Because you make such good use of it, don’t you?” RK quips, though he keeps it light. Teasing. The scowl he gets from it is more muted than usual; Gavin is thinking about the offer now, and will likely not think anything else for the rest of the day.

Getting to business, RK says, “Are you available tonight?”

There’s blotchy flush lighting up Gavin’s cheeks.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” nodding, RK makes a note to himself. “I will be at your apartment at 9pm.”

“Wait,” Gavin tenses. “Why not yours?”

“Because I haven’t seen yours yet,” it’s a simple curiosity, and he gets the feeling that appeasing it would be revelatory in its own ways. “That, and I think you’d be more comfortable in your own space, detective.”

“‘Comfortable’? I’m not a fucking teenage girl, you moron.”

“Really? Then it seems I need to be recalibrated because I certainly couldn’t tell.”

“Shut your mouth.”

RK rolls his eyes. “Do you have any _real_ concerns about using your place, or is this just another irrational bout of defensiveness at play?”

Gavin breathes, sharply through his nose. It makes his nostrils flare; RK’s mind goes to his sweet-mannered dog at home.

“Fine, have it your way,” snaps Gavin, crossing his arms tightly. It makes a nice sight of out of his arms, and RK takes a moment to ogle.  

“That is the plan, yes,” RK murmurs - slightly distracted.

“...Whatever.”

The fight has gone out of him, leaving behind only nervousness and wary anticipation. RK takes in the way his jaw works, how it looks with his fresh shave, and tries not to get too cocky with victory.

“Thank you for your cooperation, detective,” says RK, pleasantly. It makes Gavin sneer on reflex. “I will get in touch with you later. Enjoy the rest of your break.”

He shuts the car door with a polite amount of force and strides back into the precinct with renewed energy.

 

*

 

Going about his work the rest of the day is at one peaceful and agonizing; peaceful because a tremendous weight has been lifted off his processors and freeing up space in his task list, and agonizing because he finds himself impatient.

But he manages, and before he knows it, he’s pressing the button for Gavin’s apartment at the entrance of the complex.

“Yeah?”

“It’s RK.”

“...Right, hold on.”

The lock buzzes, and RK lets himself inside.

He had sent along a list of instructions to Gavin earlier, and had received a terse but acquiescent text message in response. He hopes the man has followed through on them but if not, he will work around Gavin - as always.

He only needs to knock once before Gavin is already opening the door, his expression wary - until he sees what RK is wearing.

Gavin’s jacket. It’s a little bit big on him, the sleeves dropping past his knuckles, but RK finds himself enjoying the way it feels - heavy and very, very warm.

“Hello Gavin,” he greets, and lets himself smile just a little bit.

Mouth parted in shock, Gavin sputters, “...H-hey.”

Backing up, he pulls open the door wider and let’s RK inside, looking dazed.

The apartment is nicer than he had been anticipating.

It’s not lavish, but the space has clearly been renovated.  The appliances are stainless steel - a quick scan reveals a recent manufacturing date - and the wooden cupboards appear nearly brand new. The kitchen counters and stovetops are spotless, meticulously scrubbed down - RK’s olfactory sensors pick up a strong smell of lemon-scented cleaner, used recently. There isn’t a patch of carpet anywhere, the floors entirely hardwood and _gleaming_.

Even the furniture is well-preserved, barely lived in. A pristine white couch sits in the living room, across from a mounted television. Lining the walls are wooden bookshelves that don’t have a single dent, populated by a tidy arrangement of music, movies, and books. Actual paper books.

RK scans, and doesn’t find so much as a single hair on the floor.

It’s not the level of cleanliness one can get from a last minute dash. RK can imagine it easily: Gavin spending hours and upon hours furiously scrubbing at every surface, determined to bring everything around him to come to heel, even something as harmless as a little bit of mess.

A disordered mental landscape forcing order everywhere else. Or else, stirring up mayhem on a whim. Fighting for control. It makes a disconcerting amount of sense, RK thinks, when he remembers the exercise and the diet and the coffee.  

He looks at Gavin, and feels a harsh brush of sympathy for the man. “This is not what I expected from you.”

Gavin smirks and says, “Yeah? What’d you expect from me? Strippers and coke?”

“Something like that.”

“Shows what you know about me, then.” His smirk turns dark. “Shows what anyone thinks they fucking know about me.”

He’s fighting.

He sees it in Gavin’s stance, in the crooked way he holds himself, the sardonic way he’s smiling. He’s wearing a black cotton t-shirt, and jeans without so much as a single stain.

“I don’t know what you think could possibly do to make this any different than last time, terminator,” says Gavin. He’s sneering now, it wrinkles that scar on his nose. “I don’t need to get my rocks off _that_ badly -”

“You can posture as much as you like,” RK interrupts. “It won’t change anything. You’re still here - and you’re very transparent to me.”

Gavin shoves his hands - and RK can see how they tremble - into his pockets. “Fuck off,” he snipes, but there’s very little bite to it. Not when his shoulders are hiking up and his toes are pointing inward, posture cowed. He can hang onto whatever arbitrary defences he likes, RK knows the truth now; it’s a scared and shivering thing deep in Gavin’s skin, but RK knows it’s there. He had met it, however briefly, that first night.

He comes closer, looking down his nose at the top of the man’s head. His olfactory sensors pick up the strong smell of shampoo and conditioner, indicating that he showered beforehand, per RK’s instructions. Reaching over slowly, RK settles his palm at the nape of Gavin’s neck, feeling the bones rolling under warm, sweaty skin.

“Have you given consideration to what I’ve asked you, earlier?” asks RK, as quietly as he can so as not to disturb the wild animal in his hands.

“What, a fucking ‘safeword’?” Gavin snorts, though he doesn’t look into RK’s eyes. He’s chewing his lip, and fine tremors rattle his frame. “I don’t need that kind of bullshit, man.”

“I could hurt you,” murmurs RK, watching the shifting grey of Gavin’s eyes under the fan of his eyelashes. He pinches the sensitive spots behind the man’s ears with his thumb and forefinger, hard; Gavin flinches, but doesn’t jerk away. Instead, his lips part on an unsteady breath and still, he doesn’t look at RK, brought to heel by shame and want. “ _Unintentionally_ , even.”

Gavin works his lip between his teeth.

“Too bad,” hisses Gavin. Finally, he eyes up RK’s face like he’s both scared and excited all at once. Ready to fight a hundred invisible battles, this one. “I’m not making a fucking safeword, so tough shit.”

He speaks as though it’s a challenge, as though this is all for RK’s sake rather than his.

RK takes a long breath through his nose, cooling his rising internal temperature. Annoyance will not do - it’s what Gavin is banking on to fulfill his self-created fantasies: if the night goes badly, it will reinforce every terrible notion that the man has built up for in his head, allowing him to continue in denying himself. Or if RK hurts him on accident, ruins the whole thing, then it’ll prove that they are incompatible, after all.

RK wants to give him back his words: _tough shit, detective._

But meeting Gavin’s aggression with more aggression isn’t the way to win this, he knows. Not right now. So he wills himself to be more patient.  

Leaning down, he slots his lips over Gavin’s in a kiss.

Gavin jumps in surprise, and nearly backs away - but RK wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him close, flush against his front. The solid lines of his body feel good like this, even through their clothes; RK lets himself rub soothing circles in the space between Gavin’s shoulder blades, over the bumps of his spine.

The shiver that accompanies the man’s acquiescence is satisfying; the way he straightens up onto his toes to chase it, even better.

He’s thought about this, too. The brief kiss that first night had felt seared into his casing, burned into the plastic of his lips; it had been quick at the time, but in the weeks after his perfect recall had stretched that single moment into hours, _days_.

Dipping his tongue into the wet heat of Gavin’s mouth, RK nearly purrs. The warmth seeps into his oral components, making the hinge of his jaw feel looser, the flow of thirium in his throat faster. He feels a hand come up to cup behind his head, rough fingers threading through his hair; the other grips the edge of the jacket and makes the leather creak.

He could keep doing this, endlessly, but Gavin’s mouth parts against his to breathe. As he does, RK bites at his upper lip and sucks on it for good measure.   

They do, eventually, pull apart.

Dilated pupils, shortness of breath, a flooded mouth - already, and all from something as simple as a kiss: an aroused human man, far different than the one he’d seen days ago on that disastrous first encounter. Much more appealing, in every way.

Easily guided, too; RK releases him and turns on his heel, toward the coat rack by the door.

“Take a minute, Gavin,” he says, tone conversational. “Think of a word, something you would never say.”

He can hear it, the sound of Gavin’s stuttering, surprised intake of breath - the way he tries to steady himself on his own two feet.

“...You’re an asshole,” mumbles Gavin, strained.

“Sometimes,” RK pulls off his jacket. “Now, keep thinking.”

He takes his time running his hand along the sleeves and straightening out the faint wrinkles, before placing it on the rack. There’s the sound of his keys jangling faintly in the pocket, the hum of the refrigerator a few paces away, and past all of that - the sound of Gavin thinking and _wanting_ hard enough to coalesce its own presence in the room. When RK faces him again, he sees Gavin looking down at the ground, chewing his lip so hard it looks red and likely to split in half.

Partly from desire, partly from stubbornness.

Digging into one of the pockets, RK pulls out the slim bottle of lube they’d used that first night.

Coming to a stop in front of him, RK clasps his hands behind himself at the small of his back; not touching Gavin at all, not anymore. Not until Gavin does his part.

He watches the Gavin think.

Heavy consideration twists the shape of Gavin’s face - wrinkles his nose, that scar. Draws his brows inward and works his jaw. He looks up at RK and the grey of his eyes is almost stormy in its resentment at how much he wants it.

“...Soylent.”

That’s surprising. RK raises a brow and asks why that of all things.

Gavin shrugs, and then something of a wry grin ghosts across his mouth. It’s strangely bashful; it adds a charm to his face that RK normally doesn’t have a chance to notice. “I just hate how it sounds, man.”

“Hm. Fair enough.”

There’s a span of time after that where they just look at one another, taking each other in and sharing the amused silence. The tension in the apartment backs away, to give them this: Gavin sharing his strange, private little joke - and RK, taking it in with a fascinated and fond surge of emotion.

The moment passes when Gavin’s burgeoning smile fades away, as he seems to remember what is ahead of them; he clears his throat and shuffles again, head slightly bowed.  

RK’s thinks on his concerns, the risks involved with this man - his inability to admit vulnerability, most of all. His poor handle on his own emotions and wants and needs. His volatile and destructive pride.

( _Y_ _ou enjoy a challenge._ )

“Soylent, then,” he nods. “Thank you.”

“Didn’t think you were up for the freaky shit,” says Gavin, crossing his arms. “What’re gonna do to me?”

RK shakes his head.

He doesn’t intend on any rough play or intense kink tonight, and says as much; the word is simply to establish the necessary boundaries, should they ever get to something that heavy in the future. Presuming that there _will_ be a future is banking on a lot, RK knows, but he trusts himself to do well by Gavin.

And moreover, for all that he pushes and prods - he wants Gavin to know how serious he is about this. He wants him to know that he will be taken care of, in the moments it matters most.

“Ultimately, I can’t force you,” says RK. “I can only do my best to pique your interest - if at any point you refuse to go further, then I will have to accept it.”  

“Well, look at you,” Gavin says, snide. “Did your homework, huh?”

RK shrugs. “I like to be prepared.”

“Pfft.”

RK comes close, and kisses him again. He skips over the slow exploration of before and goes straight to fierce. He turns the kiss into a rough pillaging of Gavin’s mouth, and feels strong hands reaching up to clamp down on his shoulders.

He pushes and Gavin’s back ends up against his kitchen island, and his small cry of surprise is quickly swallowed RK’s hungry, impatient tongue.  

With the hand not holding onto the bottle, RK roughly palms between Gavin’s legs and gets a low, throaty groan for his efforts.

There are a hundred different things he wants to do to this man and kissing him forever is principle among them, no matter how implausible. But they have other plans tonight and so RK pulls away, already disappointed at the way the cool air hits his spit-slick tongue.  

Slipping his eyes closed, RK takes a moment to feel it - the fast-dissipating heat in his mouth leeched from Gavin’s, the way his processors thrum with data. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, wet with Gavin’s saliva, greedy for every bit of him.

“...Holy Christ,” Gavin murmurs, and RK opens his eyes to the sight of the man’s mesmerized face. “Just...fucking look at you.”

“Hmm?” Is that lag? Oh, but he has cleared his task list before coming here…

And yet he feels almost groggy with want.

Already, this is better than before.

 _So much new data_ , he thinks, head flooded with data streams. He leans down to brush the tip of his nose against Gavin’s cheek bone, and hums. _You feel very good, like this. Better, when it’s me leading you_.

Rough hands find their way to his hips, rubbing him through his shirt and jeans.

“We should…you should…” Gavin clears his throat, RK watches his mouth work on the words. “...hurry up.”

“No, I intend to take my time,” he says. “We’re not going to rush, this time.”

“Oh come on,” Gavin grouses, tightening his grip. “You know this shit doesn’t have to be perfect, right? Just...let’s _go_...”

Shaking his head, RK reluctantly pulls away from the heat of his body.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says. “But there is something I have to get from you before that happens.”

“What?” Gavin’s face twists in confusion. “You here for something more than my ass?”

“Oh yes.”

“The hell is that?”

“Catharsis,” says RK. “Not mine - but yours.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Gavin squints at him, expression baffled. His hands go slack on RK’s hips and eventually they drop completely, dangling limply at his sides.

“What the hell does that mean?” the question trembles on the unsteady architecture of Gavin’s voice. His eyes are wide, frightful.

“You know what it means,” says RK. “You know, as well as I do, that it’s not just about sex anymore.”

 _Not for you_ , he thinks. _And certainly not for me. Not when just the sight of you makes me spin out of control._  

Gavin licks his lips, fights to regain his footing. “I didn’t sign up for anything for than a fuck.”

“Didn’t you?”

If he wants to keep up the lie, he can do it - but RK will not indulge him.

RK asks another question, “Is that all you want from me?”

Gavin swallows. And he looks away.

“You have a hard time saying what you want,” says RK, gentle as he can be. “And I have a hard time _not_ saying what I want. I’ve chased and chased and chased, Gavin. Are you going to meet me, or shall I change course?”

It’s what he says but RK knows he can’t, now. If rejected, he won’t think on this again - because he’s tiring of the way he burns from the inside out, the way he constantly feels as though he’s on the verge of a short circuit. The way his wires tangle, the way sounds have become white noise unless they pertain to one singular human man.  

“What will it be, Gavin? What do you want from me?”

RK _wants_ , but _wanting_ has made him understand true fatigue in a way he could never before; RK could run loops around the world and never tire, but in wanting so badly, he has already wrung himself dry.

 _Please_ , he thinks. _I have control - but it was always, always going to be up to you_.

Gavin swallows again, then looks up at RK with huge, terrified eyes. “I...can’t say. I fucking can’t,” he runs a trembling hand through his hair, his nervous habit. “Look just...stay. But don’t make me…”

It’s as much as a confession he will get, for now. But that’s fine - they have all night.

RK comes close and they kiss again, until the tension falls away from Gavin’s body. Until he sags into the kiss and clutches at RK’s shoulders like a lifeline.

“It’s all right,” murmurs RK, when they pull apart. “You won’t say it now...but I’ll have the words from you before the night is out.”

Shuffling on his feet, Gavin rasps, “We’ll see...prick.”

“Hm,” RK looks him up and down. “Still so stubborn. Let’s put that to the test, then.”

Changing gears, RK says: “There is only one rule for tonight - simple, easy for even you to understand.”

“Yeah?” Gavin sneers. “And what’s that? Am I supposed to call you ‘daddy’?”

RK rolls his eyes. “No thank you.”

“Phew.”

“All I need from you,” he continues. “Is your obedience. Do as I say, and you’ll enjoy yourself before long.”

Scoffing, Gavin crosses his arms, biceps bulging. “Oh, is that all? Just like a fucking dog, huh?”

“Not my words,” RK sniffs. “But sure, if you like.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gavin sucks his teeth.

He doesn’t actually take that long to think about it - they’ve already jumped over this hurdle; Gavin has already asked RK to stay, and the rest is going to follow.

“...Fine. I - yeah, okay.”

Dropping a kiss between his brows, RK thanks him again.

He takes Gavin’s hand and pulls him away from the kitchen island, looking him up and down. Taking him in: clean from his shower, softer around the edges in his own home. Looking up at RK with anticipation lighting up his eyes.

“You have a good body,” says RK. He’d said it before, that first night, but there is clarity behind it now; less a slip of the tongue and more of a shot into that target nestled deep in Gavin’s psyche.  

Lifting up the hem of Gavin’s shirt up to his chin, he watches his belly quake and says, “You’ve put remarkable work into it.”

He nudges the edge of the shirt against Gavin’s mouth with a pointed look, and Gavin parts lips to let him slip it inside. And there Gavin stands, holding his shirt up with his teeth, eyes wide, baring his belly like an animal trapped.

The sight is like one of his gym photos, only stripped of pretense.

He lets himself indulge and kneads Gavin’s firm pectorals with both hands. He already knows how they feel, could not forget it if he tried - but still, the touch feels new all over again. RK rolls and pinches his nipples with his thumbs and forefingers, watches them pebble on the Gavin’s shuddering chest. The skin is still smooth, perfectly waxed and photo-ready. A narcissist, this one; yet, eager to please and desperate for validation.

A violent flush overtakes Gavin’s face, ruddy and honest.

“You enjoy having attention on it,” RK continues, quieter than before, creeping toward intimate. Moving down from his chest, RK squeezes Gavin’s rear through his jeans. “I’m willing to grant you that attention, Gavin. I’m willing to give you what you want.”

Dropping his head down, RK sucks at the hinge of Gavin’s jaw before moving just behind his ear. The scene of shampoo is strong, here; sweat, too.

Gavin’s jaw tightens at the same time his head tips away, granting him more space, dragging his shirt with him. Peppering that thick neck with kisses, RK reaches down to unzip his fly at the same time. He glances down as he drags the zipper open, sees the way Gavin’s hands are balled into fists at his sides, veins popping.

Grey eyes lock onto his face, pupils blown. Saliva makes a damp patch spread on the edge of the shirt, still locked in the tight clamp of his teeth.

RK tugs his jeans and underwear down to hang around the middle of his thick thighs, and is gratified to see he’s already getting hard. Reaching over, he takes his cock in hand and gives it a few slow, leisurely pulls.

The flesh is warm, velvety. The way that Gavin’s eyelashes flutter at his touch makes it feel even better.

He taps at front of Gavin’s teeth with his finger, and says, “Keep this there.”

Holding Gavin’s stare, RK drops to his knees.

In his peripheral, he sees the way those fists shake; in front of him, Gavin’s stomach does a lovely little roll that makes his abdominal muscles tighten.

He pulls and strokes Gavin’s cock, feeling it thicken in his hand. There hadn’t been much of a chance to touch him like this during their first encounter - RK had been too impatient, Gavin too preoccupied with asserting himself.

Eyeing the way Gavin’s jaw clenches, RK takes his cock into his mouth.

There’s the telltale sound of a throat doing its best to keep its sounds in, and RK feels a flare of smugness heat his belly. He knows the etiquette when it comes to teeth, and takes care to keep his mouth wide.

All he knows of this act are what he’s seen in pornographic videos online, in diagrams and research notes.

All materials meant for humans, taking into consideration their limitations - and RK is no human.

Reaching up to the back of his own head, he unlatches the little panel at the nape of his neck. Gavin shivers above him and watches as RK reaches inside the hole - turning one screw to loosen his jaw, turning another to tighten his throat.

His jaw cranks apart, wide enough that he can take the entirety of Gavin’s cock into his maw, nose flush against the man’s pubic bone, swallowing him deep so that his cock nestles into the unnaturally tight channel of RK’s throat. At that, Gavin can’t contain his groan, fingers spasming at his sides.

Bypassing a couple of panels in his neck, RK presses a switch that lets him speak without his mouth.

“Do not touch me,” he says, and Gavin jerks in surprise. “Or else this stops.”

Above him, he hears the man panting harshly through his nose, but otherwise he makes no sound of complaint. His hands, dutifully, remain by his sides when RK starts to bob his head.

RK digs one of his hands into the meat of Gavin’s thigh, feeling it tense as he strains not to move while RK fucks his throat onto his cock.  

RK increases the flow of his artificial saliva, makes it wetter than any fellatio Gavin has likely ever had. Much of it escapes the seal of his mouth, streaming down his chin, sticking to the wiry hairs at the base of Gavin’s cock. The sounds are loud enough to be heard through the door to Gavin’s suite, if anyone were passing by - and if not that, then certainly they would hear Gavin’s strained, muffled moans.  

Looking up, RK takes in and appreciates the sight of Gavin’s heaving chest, and the way his abdomen tightens with each breath. He gives his thigh a squeeze; partly to soothe, partly to tease.

“ _Mm_!”

There’s an urgent look overtaking Gavin’s face - a familiar one.

He’s close.

RK abruptly pulls off and stands back up, delighting in the way Gavin sags at the shoulders and the way the frustration at being denied suffuses his features.

Reaching back into his neck, RK adjusts everything back to normal with one hand and strokes a finger along Gavin’s cheek with the other, saying, “You can take off the shirt now.”

Gavin releases it from his teeth with a pop, reaching up to rub at his jaw.

“You’re such an asshole,” he grouses, voice tremulous.

He yanks the shirt off with brusque, agitated movements, tossing it to the floor. Then, shuffling his legs, he lets his jeans drop down the rest of the way and kicks them off. Lastly, he toes off his socks - and the sight of him naked, hard, and awaiting RK’s instructions is not a sight he will soon forget, he thinks.

RK wipes at his messy mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Lead me to your bedroom,” he says, reaching up to sweep some of Gavin’s hair back.

He doesn’t know when it happened, when he became so tactile. He never used to want to touch so much before; now, he finds it difficult to keep his hands to himself.

Breathlessly, Gavin gestures at RK’s clothes. “You’re not gonna…?”

“I might. I haven’t decided.”

He likes Gavin’s attention on his body too, but this isn’t about that. If all goes well, there will be time for that later.

Gavin swallows. “...Sure.”

He turns toward the hall to his bedroom, and RK’s eyes drop to his rear as he bends down to pick up the bottle of lubricant before following. Gavin has a round, firm ass that is somehow devoid of any tan lines from his underwear. It, too, is a sight he didn’t get to appreciate much the first time.

The bedroom is every bit as tidy as the rest of the apartment - filled with sleek, good quality furniture. There is a signed poster from a band that RK doesn’t recognize on one of the walls, and a guitar case braced upright in a corner. A pair of dumbbells sit at the foot of the bed - and for all that Gavin seemed impressed with RK’s choice in bed, his isn’t any less grand. Even from where he stands, RK can tell his black sheets and pillowcases are a ridiculously high thread count.

But the piece that sticks out the most is the enormous, full-length mirror adjacent to it; RK looks at the reflection - at Gavin’s nervous posture, RK himself, and the picture they make together.

“Interesting,” he says. “There really is no end to your vanity. Do you wake up in the mornings admiring yourself?”

Gavin snorts. “You’re the one who can’t stop eyeing me up like a piece of meat, prick.”

“True.”

Reaching over, RK grazes the backs of his fingers down Gavin’s side.

“True,” he says again, softer now. The sight of him on the edge of climax, weak with desire, makes him feel immeasurably fond.

Gavin shivers. RK says, “Get on the bed.”

He could get used to this, watching him obey so readily, eyes glassy and red cock bobbing between his shapely legs.

Gavin positions himself on his back and he takes a deep, steadying breath as soon as his skin hits the sheets.

“How are you faring?”

“I wanna come so fucking bad…”

“We’ll get there,” RK soothes, coming to seat himself by his hip. “You’re doing well...remarkably patient. In control. It’s very attractive.”

“...Shut up.”

Blushing, too, looks good on him.

With the heel of his hand, he nudges Gavin’s legs apart and settles between them. A small readjustment, but it makes Gavin’s lashes flutter; the way he looks up at RK tells him all he needs to know, about how Gavin feels about this - having someone between his legs, ready and eager to fuck him.

“Remember what I said, Gavin,” RK murmurs, leaning in close. “About how this is going to go.”

He drags his lips across the man’s brow, stopping to kiss his hairline. A faint layer of sweat has started to bead on his skin, and RK tastes it with his tongue.  

“You’re going to tell me what I want to hear from you, what it is that you need to say out loud - what you need to admit to yourself.”

Gavin’s hands come up with his waist again, his favourite spot, it seems. The grip is hard, fingers locked onto RK’s flesh; if RK were a lesser model, the pressure might draw back his dermal layer.

His eyes are closed tight, even as his mouth parts on a breathy, quiet moan.

“I’ll make you tell me,” says RK. “Even if it takes me all night -”

He drops a bite on Gavin’s sweaty throat.

“- All week -”

Another, between that gleaming dip in his collarbones.

“- Or the rest of your short life -”

He laves the broad, flat expanse of his tongue against a nipple.

“You _will_ tell me,” holding down Gavin’s hip with one hand, he nudges his knuckle hard against the man’s taint. It makes him jerk and gasp, eyes flying open in surprise. “And you’re going to do it because you want to.”

Strong, eager hips buck against his hands; Gavin is hiding his face into the crook of his arm even as his body betrays everything. RK doesn’t need to pay attention to the wet tip of his cock to know.

“God...fuck…”

“Turn over onto your front,” RK says, and Gavin nearly flings himself off the bed in his haste. Excited to hide his face, it looks like, going by the way he immediately stuffs it into the pillow.

Settling a hand under Gavin’s belly, he guides his lower half upward onto his knees. Like this, he has a perfect view of the man’s ass.

Trying to keep calm is a feat, when the rush of want floods his processors at the sight.

He sets a hand on each cheek and spreads them apart, and hums.  

“You waxed here too,” he says, voice light. “Was this just for me?”

Nothing.

“Or is this usual for you?”

Gavin still stays silent. But tellingly, his arms tense on the pillows and the whole line of his back freezes.  

“I see,” says RK, thumbing the furrowed little hole.

Strong thighs tense at his touch and Gavin gasps in surprise, muffled.

Dipping his fingers quickly into his mouth, RK lets them become slick with his saliva. He brings them back to Gavin’s twitching little rim and murmurs in contemplation, “Another part of your routine then…”

Still, the man doesn’t say a word.

“Always prepared, despite how you would insist you’d never allow this.”

Big, rounded shoulders heave in a gorgeous rise and fall; Gavin’s head burrows deeper into his pillows, and his ears flush red.

“Do you do it yourself? Do you go and get it done?” RK muses, breaching him. “What do you think about, when you do?”

He slides inside easily, and Gavin’s hips are already rocking back - he can’t possibly be feeling much from just this, RK thinks, not when RK has barely even touched him. But Gavin seeks it out anyway, because he is a ravenous, desperate man underneath it all.

“Do you fantasize?” asks RK. “About having your mind changed? Or do you imagine your lover turning you over and taking what he wants - giving you what _you_ want - regardless of what you pretend to yourself?”

Breathing so hard makes his back muscles move in interesting shapes, RK finds. He wishes he could douse Gavin in body oil, just to watch the light catch on the curves of his ass, the edge of his shoulder blades, and the ditch of his spine.

Gavin is tight, and hot, on the inside. RK feels the dermal layer on his hands recede back without his say-so, simply because his body wishes to feel it better - right onto his casing. The way he stretches, loosening to accommodate RK’s fingers has his pump regulator working 12% harder, containing the rapid drum of his synthetic heart.

Just two of RK’s slender fingers and Gavin is already squirming, rocking into them in shamed, desperate movements. RK still can’t see his face, but can hear how he pants against the pillow.

With his other hand, he picks up the bottle of lubricant and dribbles some onto Gavin’s hole, pushing the slick in with his fingers. Gavin hisses in shock at the cold, but it tapers off into a moan at the easier slide.

Setting the bottle aside, RK says, “Look into the mirror.”

A shake of the head.

“Fuck off,” Gavin barks, muffled.

RK leans over him, the front of his thighs flush against the backs of Gavin’s, and pulls his head back by the hair. Not hard, but it wrenches a gasp from Gavin’s mouth, still; RK glances over at the mirror to take in the curve of the man’s throat, the attractive bump of his Adam’s Apple.

“Do what you always do, Gavin,” he says, turning Gavin’s head toward the mirror at the same time he harshly screws his fingers in deeper. “Admire yourself.”

The man’s cheeks are flushed, lips puffy from crushing them to the pillow. RK lets him go and he drops back down like a sack - but he obeys the command, and keeps his head turned toward the mirror.

RK works his hand hard enough to make the lubricant squelch, meeting every little rock of Gavin’s hips. When he glances into the mirror he sees Gavin’s eyes honed in on the motion, lip between his teeth and nostrils flaring from the effort to keep his noises down.    

Getting closer, but not yet where RK wants him to be.

RK stares down at the stretch around his fingers - three now, sliding in with ease. A thought barrels into his head hard enough to halt his processors, and he hears himself murmuring, “You could take my whole fist...”

Gavin freezes, and in the mirror RK sees the man’s eyes widen, staring at RK’s face like a deer in headlights.

“Not today, I think,” says RK, tucking that piece of information away for later.

Sagging a little, Gavin exhales in relief - but there’s a longing slant to his eyes that RK does not miss.

“God, fuck - it just do it already,” a frustrated blush burns at Gavin’s cheeks, and his eyes are glazed. Starting to water. It should be ugly, but RK likes it very much. “Just _fuck_ me, you asshole.”

RK doesn’t change the pace of his fingers, though he adds a fourth, slides most of his hand in and out of Gavin’s stretched, sloppy hole like he’s got no plans to do anything else.

“F... _fuck_ …”

It’s not quite a sob, but it will be. RK won’t give him anything until it is.

Gavin nearly starts to whine, humping back into his hand almost mindlessly, pride long abandoned. As he does it he watches his reflection, per instruction, and RK observes it all with a surge of pride and approval.

Arousal flares hotly underneath his dermal layer, simmering along his chassis; his body wants to divert processing power to the component between his legs, to push toward the logical next step - but he enacts a manual override to curb the compulsion. He wants to savour this, and he can’t let himself get distracted with his own wants until Gavin gives them both what they need.  

Soon enough, Gavin is getting close - his rhythm stutters and his mouth drops open as he pants, ragged. His eyes, still staring, are unfocused.

RK pulls away, wiping his hand on the sheet.

“ _No_ ,” Gavin growls, alert and pissed off. He whirls his head around and slams his fist onto the bed. “No! You _fuck_ \- finish me off, _goddamn it_!”

“Not until you tell me what I want to hear,” says RK, mildy. “And not until I’m properly inside you.”

Abandoning all sense, Gavin moves onto all fours before lunging at him. Seeing it coming, RK snatches his arms and spins him around, wrenching them behind his back. For a moment Gavin does try to break free, squirming on RK’s lap and kicking until his feet are twisted in the sheets.

But the struggle only lasts that moment, and then he’s sagging in the hold, head dropping back onto RK’s shoulder. He looks close to tears, frustrated and desperate. His cock is nearly flush against his stomach, dribbling a wet patch onto his skin; RK wants to touch it, feel it in his hand, but if he does he fears Gavin will finish.

“God,” Gavin rasps, pants like he’s run a marathon. “I fucking hate you…”

RK rests his cheek against the man’s temple, and gives him a smile in the mirror. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you pretend that’s true.”

“ _Christ_ …”

Maneuvering him is easy; RK doesn’t pretend as though it’s hard, no matter how heavy Gavin may weigh ( _remind him what you are_ ). He drops him back onto his front with a soothing hand rubbing down his back ( _let him know he can have it whenever he wants_ ).

“Have some patience.”

Rearing up onto his arms, Gavin snarls - a barrage of curses and insults to RK’s character, his anatomy, and his skills. Rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue, RK plants his hand atop the man’s head to shove it back down onto the bed.

“Fucking pri-”

“Take a breath, Gavin,” says RK, looking at his fingernails. There’s still some lubricant gathered in the ridges of his hand, and he wipes them a little more firmly onto the sheets.

Gavin breathes - tight, shuddery gulps of air that have his shoulders straining.

“Why won’t you just fuck me?” he asks, eyes screwed shut. “Why do we gotta do this whole thing? Just...just fuck me...I’ve already said I’m down for it, God.”

RK looks at him.

“I told you. Because this isn’t just about fucking,” he says. “It’s about much more than that, with you.”

His eyes flutter open, zeroing in on their reflection. He stares at RK that way, gaze weary. Wanting.

“I could just say the fucking word, you know,” he hisses through his teeth. “Could just end the whole thing right here, kick you out, and jerk off. I can make it all be for _nothing_ , prick.”

“You could.”

He could, and RK could not - and would not - stop him.

RK says as much, and adds, “That is entirely up to you. Tonight was never about me.”

“Yeah?” Gavin’s gaze turns baleful. “What, so you’re just cool as a cucumber, huh? None of this fucking matters you?”

“Once again, your extrapolations are incorrect and border on the absurd,” says RK, breezily. “I never said it didn’t matter to me - only that it isn’t _about_ me.”

That makes him quiet. RK can see from the way his body starts to relax that he’s calming down, coming back from the peak; it’s a testament to whatever shred of discipline exists in him that he’s not rutting against the mattress to get off. That look still lingers in his eyes, though, and RK decides to give him an inch.

“I want this,” he says, simply. Without shame. “And I want you.”

Has he not said it before? Strange, how it feels to admit it out loud in all its simplicity.

Gavin’s eyes don’t stray from RK’s reflection, and for once he’s quiet. Watching. Waiting for more.

“But I want you honest,” says RK, reaching over to stroke a hand along his flank. “If this isn’t enough to make you honest, then probably nothing will. That, I won’t abide - and I’ll gladly leave, if that is the case.”

Gavin doesn’t say anything to that, though the wrath has left his face.

RK watches his body, the way the tension slowly starts to leave it. He moves his hands to rub at his shoulders, massaging the firm flesh until Gavin is sighing, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. He has cooled down, no longer straddling that line to orgasm, and RK is glad to get back to touching him.

Unable to help himself, he leans down to drop a kiss at the nape of his neck.

Trailing a finger back to circle man’s slick, empty little hole, he murmurs, “Are you ready to tell me what I want to hear?”

Gritting his jaw, Gavin says nothing and stares straight ahead of him into the mirror, stubbornness writ all over his face.  

“I see.”

RK moves back to settle himself between his spread legs, and brings his hips up again. The motion makes Gavin groan, impatient.

“Just _do_ it…” he grumbles, exhausted. On edge. “God...just…stop fucking around...”

With an indulgent squeeze of his ass, RK says, “It’s in your hands, Gavin. You know what to do.”

Keeping the cheeks parted with his fingers, RK leans down and takes his tongue to that fluttering hole, and the yell that rips itself free from Gavin’s throat is so gratifying he’s sure his processors freeze for a full second.

He bucks back into RK’s face, thighs spreading farther apart.

“ _Oh_ …!” Gavin pants, voice breathless with shock. “Oh _fuck_!”

“Have you done this?” asks RK, before getting back to work. There’s excess lubricant coating his mouth and chin, but he doesn’t care. Not when Gavin’s body shakes in such way, not when he moans like _that_.

Gavin doesn’t answer him, and that is answer enough. RK sucks on his rim, breaching him with his tongue; his hands lock around the man’s waist, holding him steady.

“... _Ah_!”

He’d like to do it forever, but Gavin is so close to the edge that even just a little bit more is inadvisable. So he pulls away, rubbing a soothing hand along one cheek.

Gavin swivels his head around, glaring at him in rage, “ _Fuck you_.”

For a moment, RK thinks he might do as he said and use his safeword - call the whole thing off, kicking him out of his apartment and running away forever.

But then Gavin screws his eyes shut as a frustrated, angry tear squeezes through his lashes. With a small, desperate voice, wrung out and _finished_ he finally speaks: “...I want you to…”

RK stays quiet, lets him reveal the truth at his own pace.

“...I want you to take care of me…” he finishes it with a shudder, a heavy shaking of his big chest; the air rattles out of those strong lungs, crawls out of that thick neck like it was forced out from the inside. “...I just want somebody -”

He clamps his jaw shut and collapses bodily onto the bed, wiping his face onto the pillow, breathing hard through his nose. All the tension seeps out of him, leaving behind a person who wasn’t there before. Stroking down his back, RK watches him tremble, processors humming.

There are the sobs, and he can hear how good they feel. Freeing.

RK feels warm inside - a feeling like arousal, breaching sheer bliss. His mouth parts with it, and a sound wants to leave him that he pushes down. This isn’t about him, and Gavin needs his moment. He looks down at his own hands, trembling and white, and thinks he may be dizzy.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, slow like he’s lagging. _This feeling_ …

He climbs up the length of the bed and Gavin’s body, settling himself flush along the man’s quaking back.

Turning Gavin’s head by the chin he makes him face his reflection, and says to the picture of them both: “Thank you.”

Crushing a heated kiss to the man’s temple, RK shakily reaches down with his other hand to hastily unzip his pants and drag them down just enough to pull his cock out. He had ignored it the entire time, so focused on Gavin, and touching himself now feels good enough to unmake him.

Gavin watches his him do it in the mirror, eyes raw and cheeks streaked with tears, and says in a low, aching rasp, “ _Please_ …”

“Shh,” says RK, catching his eyes in the glass. “I have you.”

Lining up the head of his cock to Gavin’s hole, barely able to focus, RK shivers. The words still ring in his ears, powerful enough to fry every component in his head, he thinks.  

“Keep your eyes on yourself,” says RK. “ _Watch_.”

With that he sinks into Gavin’s body - slow but forceful, with a firm grip on his hips. He lost his role the moment Gavin gave in, and lets himself moan, open-mouthed and _loud_ , because the man feels indescribable; hot, wet, _tight_.

Beneath him, Gavin whines.  

“God, I fucking can’t…” he slurs, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. His big chest heaves and his back shakes. He bends, so, so perfectly.

“You can,” RK sighs, dreamily, and fucks him in earnest.

Gavin watches himself, and his moans sound nearly wounded - pulled out from deep inside himself; RK watches Gavin, eyes honed in on his tearful face, the way he can barely seem to absorb what’s happening, riding as high as he is.

Reaching down, he locks his fingers around Gavin’s cock, and it only takes a couple of strokes before the man is coming, too keyed up from being kept from the brink twice. And he watches himself through that, too, mouth sloppy with drool and eyes cheeks red like he’s been slapped.

A mantra of nonsensical, slurred together words leaves his mouth - a beautiful lull, when it hits RK's ears.  

RK hikes his sensitivity up to nearly full capacity, chasing at Gavin’s back, spurred by his stuttering, fitful cries.

Shaking his head, trying to clear the noise for one moment, RK asks: “Where do you want me to -”

“On my face _,_ ” pants Gavin, almost delirious. “Fuck, on my chest - where the fuck ever just _come on me_ …!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; quickly, he pulls out and flips Gavin onto his back and crawls over until he’s hovering over his stomach.

Eyes on Gavin’s face - his lovely, worn face, scarred and slack with release - RK strokes himself to completion. With a rattling groan, he comes; ropes of synthetic ejaculate curve along a heaving, sweaty chest and catch the edge of a nipple.

Dazed, RK watches some of it drip down to pool between his pectorals, jostled by Gavin’s panting.

Gavin, whose eyes are closed in bliss.

Androids don’t get exhausted. RK could go again, but there will be no more of this tonight. For Gavin’s sake he rolls over to lay at his side, fingers threading through sweaty hair.

His processors are running steady, his task list delightfully clear. His stress, he thinks, has never been so low.

He watches Gavin shiver, eyelids twitching. Watches him come back from wherever he went.     

When he opens them, groggy, RK asks, “Do you need anything? I can get you some water.”

After a few quiet, breathy minutes Gavin finally moves - he nestles his body against RK’s, head tucked under his chin. His eyes fall closed again, but he murmurs against RK’s collarbones in the gentlest voice RK has ever heard from him:

“You’re staying the night.”

Humming assent, RK makes a note to send Connor a message about watching over his dog for the night, after Gavin falls asleep.

“Goodnight,” he says, placing a kiss onto the top of the man’s head.

 

*

 

Mariposa is calm today, and they have their pick of the tables.

“Not by the window,” says Gavin immediately. RK had been eyeing one of ones facing the sunlight with a good view of the street.

“Are you worried you’ll be seen?” asks RK, a touch sardonic, though he indulges. They choose a spot at the back, nestled between some plants and surrounded by an array of local art; he studies a piece depicting humans with elephant heads, and thinks maybe he just doesn’t get it.

“Yeah,” Gavin snorts. “What, you think getting some good dick is gonna magically make me like being seen in places I don’t want to be?”

RK raises a brow, pulling out his chair. “Good dick, hm?”

He goes scarlet. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe one day.”

Gavin’s chair legs screech on the floor when he drags it out; RK doesn’t miss the way he bites his own cheek as he does.

The barista, a willowy young woman with multi-coloured hair and heavy earrings, comes by their table as Gavin settles his jacket on the back of his chair. She asks for their order, and he shifts awkwardly in his seat while RK orders him a nonfat soy latte.

This is the first time Gavin has set foot here, and certainly the first time they’ve been to such a place together. A thought comes to RK, unbidden: “Is this a date?”

Gavin’s knee slams under the table and the surrounding patrons give them dirty looks.

“ _Fucking_ -!”

“A bit extreme for such a simple question, don’t you think?”

Gavin scowls at him, rubbing his leg under the table. Then his eyes narrow, as though he’s just noticed something.

“Hey,” Gavin gestures at RK’s body. “Where’s your shiny jacket?”

“I left it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I _get_ that - but why?”

RK crosses his arms, and decides he’s going to be a little bit annoying today. “Why not?”

Gavin sighs, harshly. He pinches the bridge of his scarred nose and grinds out. “You never take that stupid thing off - I’m asking what’s different.”

“Interesting,” murmurs RK. “So you _do_ notice things about other people.”

“Hello?” Gavin snaps his fingers in front of his face. “I’m a cop, that’s my job. Don’t be a dickhead and answer the question.”

“You’re awfully insistent on this.”

“ _I’m_ _trying to make conversation with you_!” Gavin snaps, right before his eyes widen and he jerks back in his seat. He turns his gaze toward a painting of an elephant-headed naked woman and scowls, though RK feels himself being watched anyway.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across RK’s face, and he knows it must be slightly unsettling because the human across from him shudders.

“I wanted a change,” he says, honestly. “That’s all.”

“Tch.”

The barista comes with Gavin’s drink, placing it neatly by his hand with a smile; Gavin doesn’t smile back so RK does in his stead. Warming the palms of his hands around the mug, Gavin says, “...Why now?”

It’s as close to vulnerable as RK has ever heard him, outside the privacy of his bedroom, with RK hovering over him and drawing it out one desperate gasp at a time. Before he can answer, he feels something nudge against his foot under the table; the edge of a shoe, timid but _definitely_ purposeful.

Gavin’s face betrays nothing, grey eyes unmoving from his latte.

RK touches back, slotting the inner curve of his shoe against the outer edge of Gavin’s: “To coincide with other big changes in my life.”

“Hmph.”

He takes a sip, licking the foam off his top lip. For a few minutes, neither of them say anything - Gavin works on his drink, and RK enjoys the sensation of subtle, public contact.  

It’s comfortable.

“Also,” murmurs Gavin into his cup. He’s resolutely not looking at RK. “Yeah, this is a fucking date.”

RK hums, and looks out the window at a couple of cyclists passing by. He feels himself grinning again.

“As you say, detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Gavin Reed. Designation: "Tentative Fuckbuddy"_
> 
>  
> 
> _Requesting change to: "Boyfriend"_
> 
>  
> 
> _Select: Yes/No?_  
> 


End file.
